The Intruder
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: A non-traditional traditional ghost story with a few twists. Will and does contain Black/Malfoycest, so don't be a prude. NM/DM, NM/BL of a sort , DM/BL of a sort and maybe even NM/DM/BL/Kitchen Sink. Who knows?
1. Chapter 1

The Intruder

Narcissa Malfoy woke with a start. Strange, because she was normally a quite peaceful sleeper. In the darkness and chill air of a March evening, she took a moment to examine her unsettled feeling. Timidly, a slender, pale hand crept from underneath the duvet to sample the atmosphere. It felt like the warming charms were still in effect, and the fire in the floo still flickered.

No, it wasn't cold that had woken her… She shifted back into her pillow, and into the warm, masculine body that spooned her. Maybe it was nothing. Her eyes were closing again when she caught it: motion – there outside the open bedroom door.

She froze. Fear clamped her chest. Intrusion was a debilitating phobia since she'd played reluctant hostess to the Dark Lord and his minions just a few years earlier. Awake, her wide eyes flicked to her wand on the bedside table. She would have it in her hand in seconds; she only hoped the presence in the hall wasn't faster.

Another glimmer of movement. A quick white shadow darted by the door and she knew there was no way she'd imagined it. She bolted upright. Both their wands seemed to fly into her hand even as she reached for them.

"Mm. Huh… Wha?" The blonde man behind her stirred when she violently left his arms.

"There's someone in the hallway," she whispered.

He was immediately wakeful, too. Life in wartime made one evolve such instincts. His defined chest pressed to her back and she pressed his wand into his hand. "The wards are intact," he whispered back.

"I know." She couldn't imagine how someone had gotten into the manor, especially without the occupants immediately knowing. But dark magic definitely had its ways…

Her partner was moving. "Stay here," he instructed firmly.

"Draco – "

"I said stay here." He tied his pajama pants on and started stealthily for the door.

_Bugger this._ Narcissa was not one to stand idly by while an intruder stalked about their corridors. She slid from the bed as well, pulling her dressing gown over her own nakedness. Draco peered around the edge of the doorjamb, and when she peered around his shoulder, he jumped.

"Merlin's nadgers, witch! I told you to stay in bed," he hissed.

Eyes shocked, she briskly slapped the back of his head. "Don't speak to me like that! I'm your mother! Furthermore, I shall not let you face this threat alone," she replied tightly. "Besides, this is my home, too!"

Frustrated, Draco raised a hand to silence her and peeped around the doorframe again. He drew back so quickly, he bumped her nose with his shoulder, upsetting her balance.

"Ouch!" She grabbed at her face and stumbled back toward the floo. Draco caught her by the elbow, but not before she toppled a folded fireplace screen. It clattered loudly to the marble.

"Oh, shite!" Narcissa's frightened voice pitched high. Draco winced and darted another look around the door. "Did you see them?" She asked.

"I saw something," he murmured.

"Something?"

He nodded. "It went downstairs."

"It?" She pressed nervously against his side.

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"I think Bella's come back to haunt us."

She blew air through her teeth. "Oh, Draco, please!"

"Seriously!" He looked into her eyes. "It's white and…sort of fuzzy. It's a ghost – like the ones at school. I'm sure of it!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Narcissa swatted at his arm. "It's probably some witch or wizard your father slighted in some way, broken in to slit our throats in our sleep."

"Well, that's positive thinking!" Draco hissed. He sighed, looked around the door. "I'm going to check it out."

"No!" She clutched at his arm. "We should just alert aurors. They'll deal with it."

"Mum…I don't think it was a witch or wizard."

She looked even more terrified. "You don't think a _muggle_ got in?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" He rolled his eyes and pulled away from her. "I'm going downstairs. Stay. Up. Here. And be ready to alert aurors if need be."

"How will I know?" She asked around worried fingers.

Draco raised his wand purposefully. "If you hear me screaming," he said, "call aurors."

"Oh, Draco!"

He twisted sharply into the dark corridor, ignoring his frightened mother's worried warnings. _Witches… _Seeing nothing lingering in the hall, and finding all unused rooms closed off still, he made his way cautiously to the top of the stairs and pressed against a column.

Taking a deep breath, he twisted his head to peer over the nearby balcony railing. Sure enough, a hint of white disappeared smoothly from his line of sight on the first floor. He gasped and straightened again. His heart hammered in his chest. _Definitely Bella…the crazy cunt's back for my blood. Fine, bitch…bring it._

He whirled onto the landing, wand at ready, and stared down the stairs with his chin raised.

But instead of facing off against a maniacal ghost, he caught a glimpse of white slipping through the drawing room archway. He gulped. _So that's how she wants it – back in her favorite torture chamber._ Bravely, he began descending the stairs, muting the slap of his bare feet on stone.

On the first floor, he ducked into the shadowed alcove beneath the stairs, tensing for a fight. He checked around the corner. He heard rather than saw rustling in the drawing room, and darted across the chilled foyer floor as silently as an owl in flight.

He flattened to the wall just beside the drawing room entrance. At the sound of another rustle, he lunged into the open arch just in time to see –

Nothing. Shoulders drooping a little, he listened and looked around. Moonlight brightened the spacious drawing room. A few orchids nodded softly. The black lacquered piano glimmered. All was still.

Scratch scritch scritch

Goosepimpled, he whirled toward the sound. "Lumos!"

The light bursting from his wand tip revealed nothing but thickly upholstered antique furnishings. _Definitely Bella._ "Alright," he said firmly. "Come on out then, you teasing ashen varlot. I'm ready."

The sound of his own voice was a steadying comfort. He strode toward the room's center, eyes dashing about.

Scritch scritch scratch

Behind the loveseat. He leapt over the tea table and onto the sofa in a fashion that would have made his mother momentarily forget they were incestuous lovers and scold him like a child. "Got you!" He thrust his glowing wand over the chairback.

Nothing? "What the hell?" He whispered.

A little movement. His head and wand whipped to the right. There, peeking over the arm of the loveseat was –

"A peacock?"

As if in answer, the bird ruffled up its crown and tail feathers. It also…growled. Draco raised an eyebrow at it. "Ridiculous bird." But he collapsed, relieved, onto the sofa and couldn't help chuckling at himself. "Well," he looked at the stark white creature. "You simply must go out, my friend."

He stood. The bird tensed, growled again. "Calm down, there." Draco whispered. He remembered that the birds were easily distressed. "It's alllll right." He backed toward the arch. "I'm just going to open the front door for you."

As he backed from the room, the bird started a small, fretful clucking. Its clawed feet scritched on the floor and it paced nervously before the drawing room floo.

"Shhh, shhh, shhhh." Draco soothed, nearing the archway. "Come along then, fellow," he urged softly. "We'll have you back out with your hen soon. Won't you like that? I know I would." He grumbled the last bit.

Icy hands suddenly curled over his bare shoulders, accompanied by a breathy hiss. "Dracooooo."

He spun, terror squeezing his bladder like a vice, and jabbed his wand into the face of his mother. "You!" He screamed.

She screamed at his wand's proximity and drew back as if burned.

The peacock screamed at the screaming couple and flapped onto the sofa, clucking louder and pacing frantically.

Narcissa screamed again. "My Victorian loveseat! Get off, you filthy beast!" The bird screamed back at her. Draco grabbed her to stop her physically attacking the bird.

"Calm down, mother!" He shook her slightly, made her look at him. Her eyes were still wide with fear and shock. "It's just a peacock," he soothed. "I'll take care of it." He stroked her elbows.

"Get it off the furniture!" She barked, pointing her wand over his shoulder.

The peacock ruffled indignantly…and shat on the pristine eggshell sofa cushion.

Narcissa ruffled, as well. It was a thing to behold. "You…rank and disgusting moldwarp!" She shouted. Her wand trembled, chest swelled. "Avada –"

"MOTHER!" Draco shook her harder. "Stop it!"

The peacock let loose a low, mournful cry. It was answered by the birds still outside. This incensed it further, drove it to the drawing room window where it paced and cried loudly. Draco shot the bird a glare, then looked back to his mother.

He watched the azure tsunami in her eyes soften to the usual placid lagoon. Her wand lowered slowly. "Merlin…" She murmured.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Merlin."

"It was just a bird?" She asked.

He nodded, pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "Just a peacock."

"I got worried."

He rubbed her back, felt the tension ebb away. "I'm sorry. I should have called you." He had to speak loudly over the increasingly agitated peafowl. "I'm going to let it out." She nodded into the crook of his neck, obviously not about to let go of him.

He sighed and waved his wand over the drawing room windows. "Aperios." They flew open, and the peacock excitedly flapped over the sill and out. Happy clucking could be heard from outside. No doubt the bird was translating his adventure with the strange pale creatures inside the colossal coop. He waved his wand again. "Clodos." The windows slammed shut.

The banging caused Narcissa to jump a little in his arms. "Shhh, shhhh, shhh." He soothed her. "Just a peacock." He tried not to grin – or worse – laugh at the situation.

"My loveseat," she murmured.

"I know," he cooed. "We shall clean it together." A smile quirked despite himself. "We cleaned far worse when the Dark Lord was here, didn't we?"

"Don't condescend!" She whined.

He absolutely couldn't contain the eventual chuckle. "I'm not! I'm not, mother."

"Yes, you are!" She slapped at his bare ribs. "What a terrible boy…laughing at his poor, frightened mother."

"Never!" He stroked her cheeks, pushed her back so he could see her face. "I acted quite silly, myself."

Suddenly, she was the one fighting a smile. "You thought it was Bella."

He scowled. "I didn't really."

She chuckled. "Yes, you did. You nearly wet yourself! I saw you from upstairs!"

"Shut up, witch," he growled, rubbing against her.

"Bella's ghost…" Narcissa giggled. "I don't know if I shall ever –"

She was silenced by his mouth on hers. After a moment, the kiss deepened and they moaned softly. Comfortable that she would drop the subject, Draco let his lips travel to her sensitive neck. "Oh, Draco…"

He bit at her shoulder, pushed her dressing gown away from the creamy skin. "I don't believe we've ever fucked in peacock offal, have we, mother?"

She tensed. "You wouldn't dare."

Draco chuckled darkly and nudged his mother out of the dark drawing room. "Come on, then. Back to bed." She gathered her robe over her bare, chilled breasts as they mounted the stairs eagerly. "And mother?"

She glanced back at him. "Hm?"

"It is _you_ who wouldn't dare." Their laughter echoed off stone, momentarily filling the darkness with light.

But not all darkness can be dispelled so easily. And in the most darkened corner of the drawing room, a pale form shifted ethereally into the moonlight. In fact, she seemed to mate with the moonlight - blend with it - until all that differentiated her from that light at all was her mop of pitch black anarchist curls and the floating tendrils of her equally black and tattered attire.

Malice curled her lush, gray lips. Revenge glinted in her murky, patient eyes. She faded into the moonglow…for the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

The Intruder

Narcissa padded softly from the kitchen to the sunroom. She carried two cups of tea and hummed an old Celtic tune.

The sunroom was aptly named, bathed in a warm golden glow and offering a magnificent view of her rose garden. Narcissa looked up as she crossed the threshold, eager to see if her white princess was blooming. Instead, she saw her dead sister at the breakfast table. "Bella," she gasped.

The teacups crashed to the floor, splashing her slippers and ankles with scalding English Breakfast.

"Mother?" Draco was behind her.

"Oh!" She cried, reaching for him.

"Hey!" Draco pulled her into a comforting embrace, rubbed her back. "What happened?"

Clutching her son, she peered back into the sunroom. It was empty. "I…I dropped the tea."

Draco laughed. "Is that why you look like you saw a ghost?" She shook her head vigorously, chuckling at herself. Draco waved his wand and vanished the mess. On one knee, he caressed his mother's porcelain ankle. "Did you get burned?"

"No, no. I'm fine, son."

"Sit. I'll make our tea."

"No!" She grabbed his arm. "I mean, I'll come with you!" As they headed to the kitchen, Narcissa cast a lingering gaze back to the empty chair…

Tea heard the clinking of cups in china saucers and parchment shuffling as Draco sorted the post. He tisked. "Father's written."

"Hm?" She was staring into space.

He blinked at her. "I said father's written. Mother, are you alright?"

"Oh. I'm fine. I'll read it later."

Draco tossed the parchment to the table. "More of the same, anyway. He misses you, begs your forgiveness as usual, finds France abysmal."

Narcissa scowled. "It's a banishment, not a vacation. What does he expect?"

Draco smirked. "I think he expected his loving family to join him."

She scoffed. "Drink your tea."

Lucius Malfoy was one year into a five-year banishment from Britain's magical community. He'd taken up with his French relatives – an unsavory bunch that Draco remembered less than fondly. Served him right, in his son's opinion.

Draco watched his mother's satin dressing gown slip from her pale shoulder. His trousers tightened. "Mum?"

"Hm?"

"Let's go upstairs."

Her face contorted charmingly as she processed his implication. "Draco! It's barely after nine!"

He stood and raised both brows. "Right. We'll get an early start." She wouldn't say no. He extended a hand. Pink and pretty, she took it.

If what they did was wrong, they were perfectly willing to accept being damned. The boy who'd grown up never knowing his mother joyfully discovered her in the most intimate sense. They'd been lovers for a several weeks, having flirted like Hogwarts 6th years for the first months of their new insular existence. Eventually terror of their attraction had given way to the excitement of the forbidden, and one stormy night, they'd simply hit the sheets. He was eighteen and in his prime; she was old enough to know better, but enamored enough to disregard common sense. They'd quickly become orgasm addicts.

It was after noon before Draco slipped out of his mother, and nearly one before he slipped into the shower. "You should join me!" He called.

"Hmph." Narcissa rolled onto her stomach and waved him away. She hadn't quite reached the shower-sharing stage.

Draco grinned. A wand-wave produced a firm spray of hot water in the spacious stone stall. There was no door to speak of, but the stall was large enough to preclude any enclosure. Thick mist built and billowed behind him as he lathered head to toe with mint soap.

He was vigorously scrubbing his scalp when feminine fingers wrapped around his cock. Instantly erect, he lurched at the unexpected caress. "Whoa! I thought you were knackered." Lips sucked at his shoulder. "Shite, mum…" He dipped his head under the spray again. "Let me rinse."

The hand on his erection stroked. "Mmmm." He wiped his eyes, and had to abruptly brace an arm against the wall when the pressure increased. "Oh, fuck Narcissa! That's sweet." She pressed against his back, free hand scraping nails gently down his side. Her breasts felt swollen and plump straddling his spine. When he started turning toward her, the nails dug into his hip. "Ouch!" He chuckled. "Settle down, witch. I just want a kiss."

The nails gouged his hip, slashed his skin. "Fucking hell, mum!" He spun to face her.

But she was gone. That quickly, she'd drawn blood and gone. "Shite." Draco muttered as he checked the bright, bleeding scratches.

He marched purposefully into their bedroom, naked and clutching his wand. "I hope you plan to heal this."

She propped up on her elbows, blew mussed bangs from her eyes. Draco was regarding her quizzically. "Heal what?"

He stared at her, then moved to sit beside her. Curiously, he touched her hair. Her wand lay on the floor in a soup of hastily discarded dressing gown. "How are you dry so quickly?"

"What?"

His forehead creased. "Mother. Were you or were you not just in the shower with me?"

She sighed. "Draco, I told you I will join you eventually. I just –"

"I mean now!" He insisted almost in a panic.

"No!" She responded. She noticed his hip. "What the devil happened to you?"

He jumped from the bed before she could examine the wound. His hand rubbed impatiently in his still wet hair. "Have the wards been disturbed?"

"No, Draco." She sat up, pulled the duvet over her bare chest. She was worried. "What's wrong? What happened to your –"

"Someone was in the shower with me just now." He pointed to the bathroom, mouth a tight line.

Narcissa gazed in that direction. "Darling," she said slowly. "There is no one else here."

He gestured to his hip. "I didn't do this to myself!"

Hesitant, she slipped from the bed, wrapped the duvet around herself and approached her son. "Stop pacing." She gathered her wand and knelt at his hip. Before her healing charm, though, she held her fingers up to the scratches, measuring them. "Perhaps I did it earlier. By accident. When we were – "

"I would notice!" He snapped. "You never…anyway." He let out a shuddering breath as she began murmuring healing charms. "Look, I know it sounds insane. But there was a witch in the shower with me." He met her eyes. "I know because she was…" He made a rather lewd gesture. "She was wanking me off!"

"Draco!"

"Oh, please, mum! That's why I thought it was you!"

"But I would never – "

"No, believe me. I know you would never."

She huffed, then shivered despite herself. "You think there's…someone in the house with us."

He sighed tiredly. "You think I'm crazy. But I told you last night that I think –"

"You think we're being haunted by Bella's ghost." Narcissa stood. Her son was nearly a head taller than her. He nodded. "Draco. That was a peacock last night."

"I know that!" He shouted in frustration. "I saw it. I let it out. But I swear…"

She softened. "You swear what?"

"I swear for a moment it felt like…like something else." He winced when she rubbed her hand over his freshly healed hip. "It felt like something very dark. Or very heavy."

"Son." Her fingers on his face were wonderfully gentle, not at all like the touch he'd felt in his shower. "I…I thought I saw something today, too."

Draco took the hand from his face and kissed its palm. "What do you mean?"

Halting and embarrassed, she told him about the tea. "I know it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Probably brought on by what you said last night."

"And if it wasn't, mother?" He asked the question quietly, as if he didn't really want to ask it. "What if you really saw her there? What if she was really in the shower with me?"

Narcissa shook her head violently. "No," she snapped. "No. It isn't possible. We're simply…tired." She turned away from him.

"The scratches?" He was incredulous.

"I did it! Earlier! By accident. It probably didn't sting until the water hit it."

"And the witch's hand I felt on my tadger?"

"Your imagination," she hissed. "And don't call it that!"

He growled. "You are being impossible, mother! And where are you going?"

"I'm having a bath," she answered briskly. "And there shall be no more talk of this."

"You can't be serious!"

She turned in the lavatory door. "I'm perfectly serious. And Draco?"

He flopped onto the bed, defeated. "What?"

She paused, looked down at a shyly scuffing foot. "Do you wish I was more like that? In bed, I mean." She blushed furiously. "You know – scratching and such. Getting into the shower with you. All that?" Her eyes, when they rose again, were amazingly childlike.

Draco chuffed. "Mother. This is hardly about –"

"Do you, though?"

He shook his head. "No, mum. I don't wish you were any different than you are." He tried to smile at her. "I like that I can see the cracks in your ice every now and then. Gives me hope I can melt it someday."

Her mouth quirked oddly and she nodded. "I see, then. Well." She walked into the bath chamber.

On the bed, Draco's forced smile fell. He looked skeptically at the open door of the lavatory. His mother may not have been convinced, but he knew it… A chill crept down his spine and his grip on his wand hilt tightened.

There was an intruder in Malfoy Manor. And this time, it wasn't a peacock.


	3. Chapter 3

The Intruder

Chapter 3

His stomach growled insistently again and Draco scowled behind his book. Hunger was a damned inconvenience sometimes. They'd just bloody eaten dinner two hours earlier. And to compound the situation, a craving gnawed at his taste buds.

Beef. Thick, hot and rare beef. It was the _blood_ that called to him; the bite on the back of the tongue, the tang at the tip. He licked his lips.

"Son?"

"Mm?"

Narcissa peered at him over her novel. "Are you hungry?"

"How did you know?"

She raised a sardonic brow. "I can hear your stomach growling."

"Oh." There was a fair distance between them. Draco slapped his book closed and rose. "Right, then. I'll be in the kitchen."

A brief fear flashed on her normally icy features. They'd been apart very little since Draco's experience in the shower two nights before. Despite the fact Narcissa insisted all was well in their home, she was certainly reluctant to be by herself.

Draco smiled at her. "Do you want to come with me?"

But she shook her head. "No. No, I'm reading." She opened her book. "Enjoy your snack."

The kitchen's sconces flared when he entered. He salivated as he opened the cold storage box. Lifting out a sizable sirloin, he licked his lips. It was a gorgeous cut of meat – healthy red with delicate marbling. And so fresh it still bled. He could even _smell_ the blood…

No need to call the elf. Draco had a wand. One wave brought down a cast iron fry pan, another lit a burner. Just needed braising, really… He set the pan over the flame to heat and retrieved a plate from the overhead cupboard.

His forehead creased as he watched a dollop of butter sizzle in the pan. He could _taste_ it already. In fact, maybe the meat didn't even need cooking. His jaw clenched at the thought. How delicious it would be, raw and oozing that rich, red juice down his throat.

His hand was on the knife's hilt. He turned to the meat. Before he even comprehended his actions, he was cutting the steak.

His eyes closed in absolute decadent pleasure when he placed the first piece on his tongue. He moaned aloud at the first sharp and metallic taste of blood. True it was tough, but the chewing just released more of that sweet, thick nectar.

He cut without looking at the meat or the knife. His glazed eyes seemed unfocused and dazed. He stared at the window over the sink without seeing it. The blood was some kind of poison. It melted his muscles, flooded his belly with almost orgasmic pleasure. Standing was simply too much…

The smell of burning brought Narcissa to the kitchen. "Draco?" Grey smoke rolled from a pan on the stove. She flicked her wand, extinguished the flame. "Draco?"

Her nose wrinkled. It was not the smell of burning butter that assailed her, but of rot. She clapped a hand over her mouth. There on the cutting board – neatly butchered – was a rancid cut of beef. It was nearly blackened by putridity and alive with wriggling maggots. "Oh, gods!" She retched.

Had she not looked down as she approached the counter, she would have trod on him. "Son!" She dropped to her knees and lifted his head, rolled it in her hands. "Draco!" His mouth fell open and a maggot escaped, trickled over her hand. "Ah!" She nearly dropped his head onto the stone floor.

But mothers' instincts are strong and sure. She slipped a finger quickly and easily into his mouth, pressed the tip of it to the back of his throat and turned him. Violently, his body heaved and a gush of rank, black bile spewed from him.

It splashed on the cold floor, smattering a bit onto her dress. He vomited twice more, a little less each time until several dry heaves racked his body. Narcissa shook him. "Draco. Do you hear me?"

He groaned. Smacking his lips against a foul taste, he squeezed his eyes closed. "Mum?"

She hugged him close. "Yes, Draco. Gods, you scared me. Are you alright?"

"Mm-hm." He nuzzled her neck before trying to stand. He was a bit wobbly, but gained his balance soon. "Mouth's awful," he griped.

She stood shakily, too. "Draco…" A gesture to the plate. "Why would you… I mean, how could you…"

But he waved dismissively at the plate and the disgusting steak there. "Oh, yeah. You can have the rest if you like." He left the kitchen. "Going to brush my teeth now."

For a moment, Narcissa stared after him in shock. She looked at the steak and the mess on the floor, rubbed at her arms. Decided, she rushed after her son, left the mess for the elf. Draco was already well ahead of her. Her slippers papped gently on the stairs as she climbed hurriedly and ran to their room.

He was in the lavatory. She heard water running and sat on the edge of the bed to await him. She turned her wand in her fingers. When Draco emerged, he was dressed for bed, but looking rather peaked. He didn't speak to her, but climbed past her into bed.

"Draco, are you alright?"

"Yes, mother." He worked his way under the heavy white duvet and flopped into the pillows.

She looked at him disbelieving. "Draco…why did you eat that meat?"

His eyes were closing. "Hungry," he murmured.

"Draco –"

"Sleep."

She hushed, but watched over him for nearly an hour before donning her nightgown and settling in beside him. It was a restless evening for both of them. Draco occasionally jerked in his sleep, muttered wordlessly. It woke his mother each time and she felt him for fever. It was nearly six in the morning before exhaustion claimed both of them fully.

Narcissa awoke to moisture. Droplets pelted her face – three in rapid succession on her left cheek. She shook herself and swiped at the fluid, looked blearily at her fingertips. Was that…blood? With quivering breaths, she looked up slowly.

Lucius. Suspended from the canopy of their bed and grinning down at her was the opened up and eviscerated body of her husband.

She gasped, froze in petrifying terror. His chest splayed open like a pair of gory wings, the skin's edges gripped in bloodless hands. He looked like a monstrous bat with dangling genitalia and spiky cracked ribs. Still his pale, gaunt face spoke to her.

"How quaint." His voice was hoarse and grinding. "My…loving…wife and son. I'm glad to see my absence has drawn the two of you closer." He blinked. "Has your heart grown any fonder, Cissa?"

"Lucius…" She whimpered, knees bent to flee. Then he was falling, descending like a hawk upon a mouse. She screamed and turned away, curled fetally, flung her arms across her face to avoid the attack…that never came.

After a moment, she opened her eyes. Her son stared at her. "Mother?"

She lowered her arms, shot a glance to the empty canopy above and sighed heavily. "Oh, Draco." She rubbed harshly her face, ascertained there was no moisture there. "Gods…"

"Nightmare?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

He shifted closer to her, pulled her hands from her face. "It's alright now." His lips fell gently onto her forehead.

She snuggled into his embrace. "Yes, it is."

Draco chuckled lowly and shifted them til he settled between her thighs. He peppered her neck with kisses, nipped at an earlobe.

But she swatted him away tenderly. The dream had unsettled her. And she had to pee. "Not now, son." Draco growled in reply and bit hard the tendons between her neck and shoulder. "Ow!" She shoved at him. "Stop it!" He grabbed her knee and shifted her leg up with a roughness she'd never known from him.

Mild panic set in. "Draco!" She reached for his face. His eyes were completely black. Mild panic gave way to manic hysteria. She shook his head. "Draco!" His hardness prodded at her dry entrance. "Don't do this! Please!" Instant tears muted her angry volume.

He moved so quickly, then – mouth snapping at her clutching hand. She cried out, and when she pulled the bitten hand away, he clutched it in his own, yanked it above her head. She felt the muscles burn as they stretched unnaturally.

His breath was rank in her face and she turned away from it, sobbing. "Son, _please_!"

The sounds he made – the grunts and snarls… She would have thought a werewolf upon her. His strength was incredible. She couldn't fight him. And her wand was on the bedside table.

He was pushing slowly into her, past her resistance. Desperately, she slid her free hand between them only to find it trapped by his sinewy belly. He licked his shockingly icy tongue across her chest, suckled at her chill-hardened nipples through her silken gown.

"Draco…" She wept his name, breath catching on his first full, fast thrust. She was ashamed of her weak and begging whinge.

Buried to the hilt in her, he paused. Rearranged her raised leg a bit. He took a deep, ragged breath just behind her ear and his foul mouth whispered: "You smell like mother…Cissy."

Narcissa's eyes, clenched against his assault, flashed wide open. _That _was _not_ her son. "Draco." Her voice was firmer in this new, solid fear. She looked for his black eyes again, found them staring down at her with malice swirling silver flecks there. "Draco?"

He leered down at her, a line of sticky saliva hanging from the corner of a mouth filled with rotten teeth. "Not quite."

_Impossible!_ Narcissa shook her head violently. "No. No!" Her struggles intensified. The beast above her cackled maniacally. The old, familiar music of insanity sparked fire in the Malfoy witch. And while her son's belly contracted in laughter, she withdrew her hand and slapped his distorted face as hard as she could.

The strike echoed sharply in the bedroom. It seemed to freeze time with its abruptness. It certainly froze Draco.

Narcissa breathed in sharp bursts while she watched her son's face relax. Hesitantly, he turned back to face her. His eyes were blue and clear, his teeth straight and white again. But his expression was mortification.

He took in her tears and the blood on her neck. Felt the sting of her slap on his cheek. Met her wide, frenzied eyes. "Mother?" He whispered. She sobbed in reply, touched his face, and he realized he was inside her. "What the fuck?" He pulled out of her so quickly it hurt, rose onto his knees.

Free from his frightening clutches, Narcissa rolled away and off their bed. She snatched her wand from the nightstand, brandished it shakily at him.

"Mother!" He raised a hand to her in supplication. "I…I would…I would _never…_" His face crumbled and when he looked down, he saw her blood on his cock. "Oh, Gods!"

Narcissa wept, too. She approached the bed cautiously, wand lowering in centimeter increments. "Draco." It was a barely audible plea. A plea for him to be _him_ – to be alright.

He reached out for her. "I'm so sorry, mother." His tears convinced her and she flung herself into his arms. "I don't understand!" He babbled into her hair. "I don't know, mum. I don't know. I can't – I can't _remember_ and I _hurt_ you! I –"

She hushed him with a kiss, clutched his head and met his eyes again. "Draco. I believe you." Her tone hardened. "I believe you, son. That wasn't you."

"Wasn't me?" He was struggling to understand.

"Oh, Draco…" She broke down against him, held him like a sea nymph and wailed into his shoulder. "Draco! That was _my sister!_"

**AN: **Thanks, all, for your patience with this piece. And thanks always to the dragon for advisement and my wonderful mastermilfoy for some truly chilling ideas. Bit of a movie homage in this one. If you're a core Jason Isaacs fan, you caught it...


	4. Chapter 4

The Intruder

Chapter 4

They sat in the drawing room. Draco had stoked a blazing fire, but Narcissa still stroked her arms through her thick dressing gown. Every once in a while, she rocked toward the flames. They'd prepared a tea tray, but it was untouched on the coffee table.

Draco's legs shook the settee until he finally got up to pace. "We have to do something, mother."

"What?" She asked. Shock had dulled her.

He stopped in front of her. "We have to contact someone. We need help, mum."

"Who?"

Draco dragged a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Aurors? Unspeakables?"

Her face dropped into her hands. "Who would help _us_, Draco?"

He rubbed her back. "We'll find someone. I'll find someone."

"And say what, Draco?" She grasped his hand to stop his progress.

He shook his head, face stony with determination. "I don't know, yet." But a moment's silence made his decision, and he dipped into the floo. When he spoke the name, his mother gasped. She didn't breathe throughout his entire exchange, and when he withdrew from the floo call, her wide eyes regarded him accusingly.

"What the hell have you done?" She asked.

"We need connections," he snapped. "And we don't have many choices right now. Ho knows bloody everybody and they fucking worship him." Draco ran a hand through his tousled hair." He offered her a cup of tea. "I say we sleep down here tonight. He'll come in the morning."

On a bearskin rug before the fire, they huddled in transfigured blankets and cushions. Draco stroked Narcissa's arms. "I'm sorry for what happened earlier." He whispered.

She shook her head sadly. "You couldn't help it."

"Why do you think she's back?"

Narcissa shrugged. Their low voices mingled with the flickering shadows around them. "Bella was always spiteful. Perhaps she's angry we…survived. Angry her cause was lost? I don't know, son."

"Mum."

"Hm."

"There are going to be questions. About all this. You know that."

She winced and turned her face away from him. "What shall we say, then? What would this world expect from the sick, vile Malfoys? From the daughter of the Noble and Ancient House of Black – toujours pur – and her Death Eater husband's Death Eater son? Would you not have me tell the truth, Draco? That we're lovers?"

He looked at her with hurt on his features. "I don't personally give a damn what this world thinks of us. But I worry word will get back to father. Spread into the Daily Prophet. And we already can't show our faces. Do you want to add incest and divorce and demon possession to the list of reasons we're hated?"

She slouched resignedly in his arms. "No." Sighed. "Shall I say you attacked me, then?"

He scoffed. "I _did_ attack you. Let's just stay away from the word 'rape.' Alright?"

"Alright," she whispered.

He kissed her hairline. "Try to sleep, mum. While it's…quiet." She nodded, exhausted. They clung to each other and let unconsciousness fall like a blessing.

And it _was_ quiet. The entire manor stilled, paused. It was as if even the orchid petals froze in fear, as if the fire was afraid to crackle. On the lulled grounds, the white peafowl nervously clustered together, not one willing to be solitary.

The two beleaguered human occupants of the house slept like the dead. But the dead… Well, the dead had slept long enough. It was restored and unrestricted, ready to let slip its dogs of war. Unseen, it looked down on the slumbering couplet and smiled. Let the weaklings wield their weapons.

Bellatrix had always loved a challenge.

Morning found the Malfoys unsettled. They bustled about tidying the drawing room, bathed together and dressed together. Letting one or the other out of sight meant running the risk of finding something else inside that other – something ghastly.

They prepared a tea tray and took it to the drawing room where Narcissa cast a warming charm and settled nervously onto the settee. Draco paced. They spoke little. But there wasn't long to wait before the wards shimmied. Their eyes locked, and Draco flicked his wand, effectively lowering the wards. "Ready?" He asked. She shook her head and he smiled reassuringly. "I'll be right back." He went to the door.

Narcissa rose. She steeled herself with a deep breath, closed her eyes and composed her features to placidity. When she looked up, Draco stood at the door with their guest. She swallowed, and bowed her head in welcome. "Mr. Potter."

The young man bowed in return. "Mrs. Malfoy."

She smiled tightly and gestured to the tea tray, about to extend an invitation. But her breath caught when another figure stepped from behind Harry and peered hesitantly into the drawing room. Hand at her racing heart, she breathed. "Hello, Miss Granger."

The girl's eyes were surprisingly emotionless, though her chin was proudly high. "Mrs. Malfoy."

Draco stepped to her side, but she didn't look at him. He gently touched the inside of her elbow. "Potter brought Miss Granger hoping she may have some…knowledge to lend our situation, mother."

"I see." Shaking just slightly, Narcissa gestured to the tea tray at last. "Please, join us for tea." A swirl of her wand whisked two ancient wingback chairs closer to the tea table. Granger jumped, and Narcissa noted Harry's hand settling comfortingly on the young witch's back.

They settled into the leather chairs and the Malfoys sat on the sofa. For a moment, all was the sounds of tea preparation and quiet murmurs for cream or lumps. Draco crossed one leg over the other, a mannerism he'd inherited from his father. Narcissa recognized it as one used to cloak discomfort. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger." He nodded to the duo.

Granger nodded back, still seeming tense, but Harry leaned forward and balanced his teacup on his knee. "I'm not going to assume you invited us here for pleasantries, Malfoy," he said. "That was a rather frantic floo call you made last night to Grimmauld. Woke us both."

So Granger was living at Grimmauld Place? Narcissa's brow quirked. Interesting… She looked to her son, perfectly willing to let him handle this confrontation.

Draco nodded, a speculative crease on his forehead. "I apologize," he said. He was dealing with Gryffindors. "I won't presume to ask you for a favor, Mr. Potter. You've done more than enough for the Malfoys."

Harry nodded. "Don't Slytherin me, Malfoy." He looked at Narcissa. "I know who I owe my life to. You both lied to protect me – to save me – no matter how selfish your motives may…or may _not_ have been." He sighed. "You know I'll help you if I can."

Draco blinked. Narcissa leaned forward. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Harry was obviously done with that topic. "Now. You said last night there was an intruder in your house." He looked around. "We felt your wards today. I find a trespasser highly unlikely."

"And why not alert aurors?" Granger piped up for the first time. "Why call us? What can we do?"

The Malfoys shared an uncomfortable glance. "It's not that simple," Draco said. "I don't even know where to begin…"

But he was spared the trouble.

An icy wind pushed suddenly through the room. The party leapt to their feet, huddling against each other. The enormous mirror above the floo shattered, raining powdery shards onto the Gryffindors. The shuffled out of the mess, shaking glass from their hair and clothes. "Merlin!" Harry shouted.

Hermione tugged her wand from her jumper. She made to wave it over the glass when her arm was suddenly wrenched backwards. "Harry!" She cried out. But Harry was blasted away from her, and likewise Draco when he lunged to help.

Whimpering as though her mouth was covered, Hermione was pulled to the center of the drawing room. Furnishings flew aside, crashed into walls. Narcissa was pulling Potter to his feet, checking him briskly for injuries before rushing to her son.

Hermione struggled beneath a translucent shield of spinning silver magic. Her hands clawed at an invisible face, wrapped around invisible arms. She wept and cried uncontrollably. Harry ran toward the shield, only to be caught round the waist by Narcissa.

"No!" She hissed.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"Draco! Hold him!" Draco rushed to his mother's side and took hold of a straining Potter's arms.

"What are you doing, mum?"

She didn't answer, but approached the shield cautiously.

"Mother!"

She looked at him once over her shoulder, a peculiar calm on her features as she raised her hands – her wand – to the shield. Hermione continued writhing and screaming as streaks of silver condensed, arced toward Narcissa's outstretched hand and the tip of her wand.

The witch seemed to absorb the magic. She shook with it, then threw her head back and her arms wide. A howl poured from her throat, broke the concentration of energy. The shield dispersed into erratic, diminishing waves. Static charged the air.

Narcissa collapsed, crumpled like a grieving swan. Draco released Potter and rushed to his mother, swept her into his arms and cradled her. He brushed her hair away from her face. "Mother! Narcissa?" He kissed her forehead and she stirred, pushed at him, then pulled him back.

"Draco!"

They heard coughing, turned to see Granger heaving for breath in Potter's arms. Harry and Draco locked eyes. "I'm sorry," Draco gasped. He hugged Narcissa tighter, repeated, "I'm sorry."

"Harry." Granger spoke, voice hoarse and ragged.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"Yes." She looked at the Malfoys. "It's her," she said. "Bellatrix. You knew." Draco nodded. Hermione winced and pulled up her sleeve, revealed the word 'mudblood' freshly carved there. Harry stared at the bleeding wound in horror. "She gave me a message for you…"

"What?" Draco asked. "What message?" Narcissa peered blearily over his shoulder at the girl.

Granger's eyes were cloudy and unfocused. She swayed and Harry supported her. "First they'll know fear. Then they'll know pain. Then they'll know death." Her eyelids fluttered. "That's what she said…" Hermione fell unconscious against Harry's chest.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

Potter lifted Hermione, carrying her toward the settee. "You're going to need more help than we can give you, mate."

**AN:** Thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers. It's about to pick up - I promise. Expect the _Poltergeist_ homage to intensify. A bit of very obscure TV reference in this chapter in Bella's message. I imagine at least _one_ of you will get it...


	5. Chapter 5

The Intruder

Chapter 5

Potter promised to return that evening after seven o'clock. He would _not _bebringing Miss Granger back, he informed Draco. Probably for the best, Draco imagined, as a third installment of torture at the hands of his deviant aunt – whether dead or demonic – might just do the girl in properly.

But the chosen one did promise to bring help – an Unspeakable with the right amount of interest and a respectable amount of experience. Draco watched his mother churn fitfully in sleep and hoped there was an Unspeakable out there who was up to the task of excising the angry spirit of Bellatrix LeStrange.

"Draco?" A small moan issued from his mother. He hurried to her side and propped on the bed.

"Mother." He touched her face. "I'm here." She was cool to the touch and a little clammy. His senses set on alert for odd behavior. "Are you alright?"

She blinked up at him as though light hurt her eyes. "Tired," she murmured. She propped on her elbows, taking in their bedroom. "How is the girl?"

"Fine." Draco tugged a sliver of silver hair from the corner of her mouth. "Potter is coming back tonight without her."

"Good."

"He's bringing someone to help us."

"Is he?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"He said after seven."

She sat up. "Excellent. I'd like a sage bath."

He blinked, but didn't argue. "I'll run your water, then." She nodded. In the adjoining lavatory, he wand-tapped the stone garden tub's serpentine spigot. She would want the water hot for this.

Narcissa was a witch of the old ways, many would say. A somewhat druid. She still communed in the forest behind the manor, still knelt before her cluttered altar, and still subscribed to herbal practices modern potioneers would call 'archaic.' But her son hardly questioned her witchcraft; he'd witnessed its power more than once, and would be a liar if he claimed it wasn't hypnotically beautiful.

From the bathroom door, he watched her fuss in said altar's many compartments and cabinets, gathering her supplies. She was brisk and efficient, certain and confident – despite being nude save for a gauze underskirt. An arm full of jars and boxes obscured her lovely breasts as she squeezed past him, but her hooded sidelong glance told him she knew he was looking.

He watched her crumble various ingredients into her bath water before raising her wand over the steam. Her clear strong voice never stumbled over the ancient words – not Latin – but older. And finally, her slender fingers slipped the tie at her waist, and the slip slid to the floor, pooled prettily around her feet. He gripped the door's latch. She was like a pale moon-goddess.

"Son?"

His eyes found her expectant face. "Yes?" He whispered.

"I'd like you to join me. For cleansing."

He took a deep breath and smelled the spicy white sage. "Yes." He stumbled out of his clothes, lacking her grace but compensating with earnest eagerness. She'd never bathed with him before…

Once he remembered his shoes and was free of trousers, he set his wand on the tub edge and made to climb in. But her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked at her. She stood in the water like the Lady of the Lake herself, a mysterious smile on her face and a jar of pungent unguent in one hand. "Hold on," she murmured.

Wordlessly, she smeared the salve on his half-hard cock, springing it to full engorgement. "Oh," he groaned. "What is that?"

"Flying ointment." She set the capped jar aside and helped him into the bath. "You'll feel strange for a moment, but nice." Standing in the water, she pulled his head down to kiss her.

He resisted. "Mother?"

"What, darling?"

He gripped her hair and stared into her eyes. "Is this really you?"

She nodded. "I promise it is."

He kissed her. And in her kiss he recognized her; restraint, pleasure, fear, desire and disgust. He knew well the heady palate that made up his mother's kiss. But it morphed this time – swelled and surged. When he pressed against her she pulled away. "Come," she hissed urgently. "I need you inside me before the water melts it away."

"Wha –" But he had no time to protest. They fell into the water with a splash and Draco found himself immersed in steam, sage and his mother's molten sex. "Fuck!" He gasped.

"Exactly," she concurred breathlessly. "Draco, listen to me."

His head spun. He was floating and… "You feel so good!"

"Draco."

"What?" He was mindless with the tightness of her cunt and the psychosis of her tincture. She was speaking, but her face was blurry and her voice was a chorus.

"Whatever happens," she told him, "don't let me drown."

"I'll never let you drown!" He sang back to the chorus and held her tightly as his world exploded in pleasure.

Narcissa opened her eyes. The plane was empty, misty and grey. In the distance were vague shadows of gnarled trees. She raised her hands to her face. They dispersed into mist as well. Perfect.

"Bella." Not a word, but a thought. "Sister."

The spongy ground beneath her feet dissolved, or she was flying higher. A hum surrounded her, intensifying as she rose and became less solid. Again, she reached out, let her mind stretch like tendrils. "Bella."

Finally a reply. A shriek and a swirling darkness. The swirl caught her up, mingled with her grey mist and she felt the desolation of it. **"So **_**now**_** you come to find me, sister? Now you seek me – the forgotten one?"**

The fury was overwhelming, crushing her breath. "You were not forgotten, Bella."

"**LIAR!" **The swirl pierced her, halved her. **"I have been here an eternity waiting!"**

"Waiting for what?"

"**Revenge," **the black mist hissed.

"Why?" Narcissa felt herself falling, weakening, overpowered by her sinister sister.

**"You loathsome incestuous little spittle. You gave not one thought. Not one thought to the possibility I am immortal."**

The ground consolidated beneath her feet and the mist pressed her to her knees as it sprayed its hate into her ear.

"**Cissy. Little sissy. My dear, **_**dear**_** sister." **The mist became a hand just stroking her head. **"I've such horrors to show you…such suffering."**

"Why, Bella? Your own family…"

**"Family."** The mist scoffed. **"Family cared not that I suffered 14 years in a deathless, maddening prison cell."** As expected, the caressing hand became a claw, scratching at her neck as it wrenched her head back by her hair. **"Family cared not to remember me in fate as the great witch I was. The great power that I _am_." **

"Oh, Bella. Please." She was drifting away, back to the firmament. "I want to help you."

The mist swelled and reddened. **"Help _me_?"** It roiled away, then struck at her like a snake. The punch sent her sprawling and breathless through the surface of surreality. **"Pray there is a soul to help _you_, dear sister!"** She fell faster. The mist called after her tauntingly. **"Tell them _all_, Cissy. That I'm back. I am only cutting my eye teeth on you and the boy…" **

"Mother!"

She was cold…

"Mother!" His voice was frantic, reaching for her past the mist, past the falling. His arms caught her, shook her. "Mother, please!"

"Draco." Her hand – solid once more – reached to his face, stroked it. "I'm here."

They were on the bathroom's tile floor, naked and wet. "Merlin's _fuck_, mother! What the hell happened to you?" He was shaking as he wrapped her in a lush towel.

"I went to find her," she murmured.

"Find her?" He dried her hair. "Find Bella?"

She nodded and he steadied her face to stare into her eyes. "Well I hope you did. Because you scared the bloody life out of me. I thought you were damned dying on me!" He continued to mutter as he gathered both their wands. "Eyes rolling back in your head. Frothing at the damn mouth. I thought you'd developed lycanthropy atop all our other bloody problems. Are you alright?"

She was beginning to gel. The world was falling into place again. Some small dizziness remained, but the blurred vision was clearing. "I just need tea."

He helped her to her feet. "Tea?" She wobbled and he caught her. "I think you may need a lie-down, mum. Or a healer."

She shook her head. "Tea. Please."

He sat her on the edge of the bed. "Very well. I'll call the elf."

"And Draco?"

"Hm?"

She smiled. "Clothes."

He looked down at himself, then at her, and blushed hotly. "Right."

They dressed, and took tea in the softness and security of the garden. Outside the manor walls, they felt safe. As if the light of the sun could dispel any darkening presence. Narcissa's face was turned to the warmth. Her son regarded her curiously. "So. Did you find her?" He asked.

She turned to him, needing no explanation for the question. "Yes."

"And?"

Narcissa shrugged. "She is vengeful. Hateful." She shivered. "She means to kill many, I think. We're just…practice, I suppose."

"She hasn't changed," Draco quipped. "That's good to know."

"It _must_ end here." Cissa nodded decisively.

"I agree." He nodded, too.

"Draco."

He held up a hand. "No. No, don't do this."

Her forehead creased. "Don't do what?"

"I know what you're going to say, mother!" He sighed. "Some drivel about 'oh, if I die, your heart will go on' or such bollocky bollocks as that." He pointed at her. "Well, I'll not have it. Neither of us is going to die. And there's no need for you to go suddenly sentimental on me just because we're being haunted by Aunt Bella's demonic soul!"

Her eyes softened. "Oh, son." She touched his hand. "I was just going to ask for the cream."

* * *

><p>When Harry Potter apparated to the Malfoys' front gate at seven, he found them sitting on their stoop. Draco stood with a grimace to greet him, while Narcissa remained dejectedly seated.<p>

Harry tensed. "Has something happened?"

Draco shrugged. "Eh. Not really."

Harry nodded to Narcissa. "Are you alright, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I'm fine." She sounded extremely irritated.

"Well." Potter tried an encouraging smile. "An Unspeakable will be arriving any moment. I'm told he's the best."

"I hope so," Draco whispered.

"Has there…has there been another incident?" Potter asked.

Narcissa fiddled with a plucked gardenia blossom while Draco scuffed the stone stoop with a nervous foot. "We found something boiling in the kitchen earlier. In the big cauldron."

Harry winced. "What was it?"

Draco scratched his head. "We think it was the elf."

Harry paled. "Oh, gods!" He put a hand over his mouth. "I'm so sorry." He gestured to the doors. "Would you like me to help you…remove it?"

"Oh, we've removed it," Narcissa said quickly. "We would simply prefer to wait out here until your Unspeakable arrives."

"Or until the walls stop bleeding," Draco grumbled.

"What?" Potter asked.

A subtle apparation pop halted their conversation and their gazes traveled to the end of the extensive walkway where a figure stood. Something in his very presence demanded respectful silence; perhaps it was the slight hunch in his shoulders, the simple lines of his muggle-style suit, or the shadow cast by his fedora rim over deep-set eyes. Whatever the case, the trio at the manor entrance rose to receive him, awaited patiently his slow and deliberate approach.

The black-clad figure paused beneath a brightly glowing torch. The angle illuminated him and the case he carried in stark relief. He looked up at the manor, then down to the trio at its doors. "Hello," he said simply. The voice was strong, the accent a softened western European.

Draco stepped forward to greet the stranger and the ground trembled violently. Harry steadied Malfoy, and their surprised faces turned to the visitor, who met them halfway with extended hand.

"I am Merrik. An Unspeakable." He gestured to the manor. " And I believe something inside knows I've arrived."

**AN: **I apologize for the delay in updating. The milf took a vacation. But she's back - unapologetic film references in tow. Huge nod to _The Exorcist _in both stunning celluloid and literary form. Thank you, Friedkin and Blatty. Also homage to Barker's _Hellraiser_ series. Die-hards will get it.

**AN2:** If you're curious, Narcissa's flying ointment is a real deal. A salve made from _atropa belladonna _- or 'deadly nightshade' - was used by witches to induce feelings of flying in days of olde (and sometimes days of newe). How did they apply it, you might aske? Well, many historians believe the mythos of witches flying on broomsticks was created by the fact that they applied said salve to their staves or broomsticks and inserted these objects into their vaginas. Truth. Don't believe me? Visit the web home for Bouncing Bear Botanicals and read about the fascinating _atropa belladonna... _Because knowledge is power!


	6. Chapter 6

The Intruder

Chapter 6

"Take your shoes off," Narcissa told their visitors. "And you may want to roll your trouser cuffs."

Harry blinked at her advice, but did as she suggested. Merrik simply shifted his valise from one hand to the other, and waited patiently for Draco to open the doors.

The entry hall was literally a bloodbath. "Merlin," Potter breathed. Perhaps half an inch of sticky black-red fluid squelched between his toes. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. He clapped his hand over his mouth. "When did this happen?"

"It's been collecting for a few hours now." Draco gestured to the walls and Harry looked up.

"Gods above!" The blood belched from the very seams of the ceiling. It flowed thickly and slowly down the stone staircase. Paintings were sodden. Occasional drips dropped from chandeliers. "Unbelievable," Harry murmured.

"Typical." The calm voice of Merrik piped up. They regarded him in surprise and horror. "In fact, I've seen worse." The imprints left by his shoes filled in with each step he took. He ran a wizened finger down a blood-soaked wall. "It's parlor trickery," he said. "Empty illusions employed by the presence to intimidate."

The walls trembled again. "And _that_?" Draco demanded.

Merrik removed his fedora and pursed his lips. "Well. That is something more." He looked to Narcissa, who stood wringing her hands. "What would you consider the heart of this house?"

She shared a glance with her son, who shrugged. "I would say the dining room." She nodded more certainly. "Yes. Where we took all of our meals as…as a family."

"Please." Merrik gestured with his hat. "Take me there. It's where we shall begin."

Cissa led them up the stairwell and into the dining hall. Her skirt hem trailed through the blood, but she seemed beyond caring. Her whispered spell lit the sconces, revealing an equally bloody dining room with its impressive mahogany table. Merrik approached the table and hung his hat on a chairback.

He addressed the group lingering in the archway as he opened up his case. "Who was closest to the presence molesting this manor?"

Draco nudged his mother. She shot him an annoyed glare. "This…presence," she began, "is my sister."

"You contacted her?" Merrik was donning a grey robe decorated with Celtic embroidery.

Narcissa blinked her surprise. "Yes. I…I contacted her today. I hoped I could reason –"

"There is no reasoning." He turned to them. Draco recognized Pictish script on the Unspeakable's robes. "But the fact that you managed to contact her at all is impressive." He gestured to the seat at the head of the table. "I would like you here."

Merrik seated Draco to Narcissa's right, and turned to Potter. "You are unrelated to this family, correct?" Harry nodded. "You needn't stay, then. This is one of the strongest presences I've ever felt. I cannot guarantee any of us will survive."

"I see." Potter stared between the two Malfoys. They stared back with no expectations in their eyes.

"You should leave, Mr. Potter," Narcissa whispered. "This is not your fight. Though we thank you most sincerely for your assistance."

A moment passed. A decision formed. "I'm staying." Merrik didn't question him, but gestured Potter to the chair at Draco's right.

"You don't have to do this, Potter." Draco couldn't seem to meet Harry's eyes.

"I know. But I want to." Potter's eyes were on Narcissa. And when she met them, he looked away.

Merrik produced a charred bowl and a batch of crumbled herbs. He set the herbs to burning before the trio at the table, and the hypnotic smell of smoky sage filled the air. Merrik pulled a wand from his sleeve – a sleek, polished device of rich red wood. With it, he directed the smoke to form more Pictish script in the air, speaking clearly and loudly in the old language.

He challenged the spirit. "I call on you, Bellatrix Black LeStrange! Come forth and show yourself! Make known your will and be gone back to the darkness that wants you! Your place is amongst the dead!"

The walls shuddered. The floo flared to life, threw hot fire into the room before settling to a steady roar. Merrik went on. "I will banish you back, demon! Your master rots! His putrefaction mingles with yours! You are the lover to his decay!"

The sconces dimmed, then snuffed out. The blood on the floor bubbled. Merrik circled the trio at the table. "These living souls condemn you to the death you deserve, vile shadow!"

A deafening crack rang. The group flinched as plaster and stone shook from the broken ceiling. "Hold hands!" Merrik barked. "Now!"

Their fingers scrambled across the table when the heavy window hangings snapped from their sashes and the room was blackened entirely. Narcissa clutched her son's hand as if the act guaranteed his life. She was surprised to feel Merrik's cool hand take her other, but she was comforted by the gesture.

"It is among us now," Merrik said. "It veils its cowardly face in darkness."

"**Do **_**not**_** call me a coward!" **The disembodied boom shook them all to their cores, but it wasn't Bella speaking.

The floo and sconces flared once more, and in the hot orange glow, Narcissa saw the man holding her hand. She screamed, mindless of the weakness. "Severus!"

It was Snape, but _not_ Snape. The skin was too pale, even for Snape, and waxy. His hair hung past gaunt shoulders and was greying. The lips were blue and drawn back from gnarled, dry teeth. This was a _corpse._

And it _spoke_.

"**Narcissa. I fulfilled my vow. I do not believe I would be remiss to solicit… compensation?" **Then with the strength only the undead possess, it wrenched her arm to its chest and sent her sprawling across the table.

So quick was the sickening snap of her forearm splintering, her gasp, and rustle of Snape's billowing robes as he descended on the witch. Her scream was muffled and abruptly ended by his stale mouth covering hers. The kiss was a horrendous travesty of a kiss. She was suffocated by the stench, and drowned by the callous, shriveled tongue that snaked down her throat.

She thrashed beneath his encompassing blackness. Momentarily stunned by the transpiration of events, Draco and Harry leapt at the figure, drawing their wands. But as if they were mere midges, Snape threw out an arm and cast them across the room.

Merrik, in a swirl of silver cloak, slashed his wand through the air before bringing it down, down in a double-fisted stab. The red wood pierced the creature's back. Severus' head fired back and he howled. The howl morphed into a chorus of howling voices – all enraged and in pain – before Snape dissolved into tendrils of licking black mist and evaporated.

Narcissa lurched and spun off the table. Draco limped to her and cradled her upon the filthy floor until she stiffened in his arms and vomited. He soothed her with shushes, caressing her hair away from her face. Her shock wore off as she spat, and agony seared her arm. "Oh, great goddess, _please!_" She cried, clutching the bent appendage to her chest. Draco took it gently in his hand, grimaced at the knot of broken bone threatening to slice through the skin.

Potter also staggered from his fall. He lurched to the table and leaned beside Merrik. "That wasn't LeStrange," he said. "What's going on?"

Merrik wiped at his forehead with a white kerchief. "It was the same demon." He made his way calmly to the Malfoys, Harry in tow. "It's strong. It's saved up a great hatred for a long time." He knelt and took Narcissa's arm from Draco. "This will hurt."

A wave of his wand and another nerve-crawling crack saw the witch's arm snap straight again. She tensed and cried out into her son's shoulder while he rocked her.

Merrik stepped away. "It will ache for a while, but will heal." He offered no other comfort, but helped her and Draco to their feet. Narcissa held her chin stoically as her son seated her. "I fear we are only beginning to see what the phantom can do."

As if to prove his point, the flames around them flickered out for good. But the darkness was brief this time, ending when the heavy window hangings popped free from their rungs rapidly, one by one, and flooded the room with silver moonlight. Shielding their heads from hurtling brass curtain rings, the room's occupants looked up slowly.

There at the far opposite end of the table, in a halo of wicked green glow, sat Bellatrix LeStrange.

Draco reached for his mother's hand. Potter froze in his seat. The only movement was from Merrik, who shifted behind Narcissa.

"**Hello…kiddies." **If Snape had appeared undead, Bella appeared the opposite. Aside from a ghastly pale complexion, she looked healthier than ever. Her hair spilled thick and glossy over her bare shoulders, and the black satin frock she wore hugged her ever-shapely form like an evening glove.

"Specter!" Merrik bellowed, brandishing his wand.

"**Silence, dribbling old fool!" **A flick of Bella's wrist sent the Unspeakable reeling backward, pounded him into a still oozing wall. Harry rushed after him. **"Is that itty…bitty…baby Potter?" **She licked her lips .

Harry slowed and halted, looked over his shoulder. "You don't frighten me, LeStrange. You're dead. A ghost. And you can be sent back where you belong. Your tricks can't affect me."

She pouted. **"They can't? What a shame. They can certainly affect Draco." **She chuckled deeply. **"Right, lover boy?" **

Draco scowled at her, still holding tight to his mother's hand. "Why are you doing this, Bella?" He asked. "How could you do this to your own family? It's…sick!"

"_**I'm**_** sick?" **Her green glow brightened and she leaned forward onto the table. **"**_**You **_**fuck your mother, and **_**I'm **_**sick?" **She tossed back her head and laughed maniacally.

Draco and Narcissa shared a desperate glance. Potter stared at them in confusion as he helped Merrik to his feet on the blood-slick floor. "She's lying," Draco hissed.

Bella spoke between bouts of laughter. **"Would I lie, Potty? He fucks her! Every day. Sometimes thrice a day or more! And she loves it! She begs for it – begs like a slattern for her son's cock! And he –"**

"Stop!" Narcissa shouted. She shook in her chair.

Bella's joyous expression melted. **"Cissy." **She brushed her graceful fingers tenderly over her chest. **"Miss me?"**

Merrik and Potter approached the table while the sisters spoke. "Bella, please. Go."

"**Remember when it was me, Cissy?"**

"Bella…" Narcissa's voice trembled, but not with fear. Draco recognized the strain. It was anger.

"**Remember when you begged for my mouth, for my fingers?"**

Narcissa's chair creaked through the sludge on the floor as she rose, practically spitting. "If you want a fight, sister, you can have it with _me_! Leave my son out of it!" Draco watched his mother with a heavily creased forehead.

Bella rose, too. **"Oh, but you prefer having your son in it, don't you, Cissy? Little Miss I'll-open-my-legs-for-anyone-who'll-have-me…so long as they're family."**

Merrik put a hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "Don't," he said firmly. His breathing was heavy. "The beast is baiting you. It wants a fight. To drain your energy. It will attempt to destroy you that way. You seem to be its locus." Her nostrils flared, but she settled back in her chair.

Bella stood. She drifted – floated – toward them, smiling when they tensed and drew wands. **"I won't hurt him, Cissy." **She began to dissolve as Snape had, first the dress swirling into mist, then her hair, then the rest of her. **"Just let me **_**show**_** him…" **

The mist hovered, then descended, coalesced into a thick cloud over Draco. He watched it with an expression of mute terror.

"No!" Narcissa flung herself across him, unsettling his chair. They toppled to the oozing floor, and the mist enveloped them both, avoided Narcissa entirely, and absorbed into Draco's skin. Harry lunged toward the pair, but Merrik grabbed him, shaking his head sadly.

"Draco!" Narcissa sobbed. She shook him, pulled him to her chest. "Please! Bella!" She shouted to the ceiling. "Gods damn you! Don't do this!"

In his mother's arms, Draco tensed, then relaxed. His eyes clouded, stared into the middle distance. He was watching something no one else could see…

**AN: **Thanks for your patience, and always - for your kind reviews. Next, we see what Auntie Bella has to show Draco...and we get one step closer to cleaning house. This chapter brought to you by The Dresden Dolls' tracks _Good Day _and _Runs in the Family_.


	7. Chapter 7

The Intruder

Chapter 7

He was mist. Before awareness of anything else, the awareness he was mist. He drifted as mist is wont to do…down the empty corridors of his home. The second floor was quiet and dark. He heard muffled voices downstairs – his father's among them. And was that the Dark Lord?

But mist cares not. He drifted further, toward the glow emanating from a cracked bedchamber door. Something propelled him there, gently urged him, and he surrendered happily to the commands.

The room he recognized as his mother's was dark, lit by a barely burning fire in the floo. The window's heavy draperies were shut tight against chill, as were the hangings round the bed.

But he heard voices there, too.

"_Shhh! Bella, not so loud!"_

"_Oh, but Cissy, it feels so good!"_

"_Do you want my husband to come?"_

_A dark chuckle. "I want you to come, Cissy!"_

"_Shhh!…Oh, Bella." A groan._

The mist easily penetrated the lush velvet hangings. Inside, amid disordered duvets and strewn pillows, were two naked witches. One, the mist recognized immediately as its mother. She lay on her back, wanton and glistening. Between thighs the mist knew intimately was the unruly head of coal black curls belonging to the mist's aunt.

The mist wavered with emotion; warmed with embarrassment at witnessing such a spectacle, chilled with envy, shivered with desire.

Narcissa's fingers flexed in her sister's hair while Bella's tongue flexed in her sister's cunt. _"Belle. Oh, goddess help me! Please! Give me your fingers!"_

Bella's lips sucked noisily on Narcissa's clit, causing the blonde to cry out. _"You want me to fuck you with my fingers, sister?"_

"_Yes. Yes!"_

"_Alright darling!" _Bella's hand left its hold on Cissa's porcelain thigh. The mist shifted curiously, wanting to see, to know all. It watched two long fingers stroke, then part its mother's shimmering, engorged folds before plunging ungently into the tight sheath.

"_Ugh! Yes, Bella. Oh…" _The mother of the mist sounded like an animal in its death throes.

_"Sweet, Cissy. Your pussy's so tight, so hungry for my fucking, my sucking,"_ Bella punctuated her words with kisses and laps at Narcissa's swollen clit. The mist peered over rambunctious curls to see that familiar pink pearl peeking from its hood, red with rough attentions.

And it wasn't long before the receiving witch was arching into that salacious salivation, coiling and unraveling on a string of foul utterances the likes of which the mist had never heard. _"Fuck, yes! Bella! Oh, sweet! Shite! Oh, gods!"_

That same dark chuckle answered, and the figures blurred, and again the mist was floating. Outward he drifted, to another bed – this one spartan and nearly the only furniture in an equally spartan room. Upon said bed? The same two witches. Again, the mist watched.

"_I can't, Bella! I simply can't!" _A naked Narcissa was straddling her sister's thigh. She held one of Bella's hands in her own, kissing the fingers like a supplicant.

"_You can, Cissy!" _Bella's free hand tugged at Narcissa's free hand. _"Just squeeze, Cissy. It won't hurt me. I promise!"_

"_No! I won't." _Bella put Narcissa's trembling digits firmly at her throat. _"Stop it, Bella! Please."_

"_Squeeze my neck, Cissy. Just a little pressure…" _

There was silence and a little whimper as Narcissa complied nervously. The mist watched its mother's face contort beautifully; saw the flash in her eyes at her sister's first hitching gag; recognized the sensual thrill of power.

"_Oh," Narcissa whispered. _She shifted atop Bella. Eyes never leaving the brunette's face, the blonde's fingers quested down a creamy thigh. The mist watched those fingers disappear in its aunt's quivering cunt. Then the witches were moving, heaving like one beast. While one gasped for breath, the other kissed that breath away.

And again, the mist had never heard such disgusting delicacies roll from its mother's tongue. _"Good, Bella. Yes, beg. You're so pretty like this…desperate. Sweat for me, come for me. Claw for me, sister…"_

The mist rolled away. It yearned for another drift, another fade, away from all this and into something perhaps more peaceful. But again it seemed destined for debauchery…

It recognized its father's suite, recalled hiding under the giant bed there as a child. It was no surprise seeing his mother upon that bed, but the man with her was less expected. He was darker than Draco's father, with rough brown curls sweat-soaked and finger-fussed, and a thicker, darker sinewy body that moved frantically between Narcissa's legs.

_"Christ, you're gorgeous, witch," the stranger hissed. "So fucking tight, so perfect. Oh, you're precious." He kissed her lips sloppily. "Your husband's a fool, Narcissa! Groveling like a plebe at the Ministry when he could be having this body. I worship your body, Narcissa." He kissed her breasts, laved and suckled and bit at them. "You're my goddess, my perfect witch of the dark world." His head flew back and he groaned helplessly. "Oh, Narcissa, won't you come for me? Come with me?"_

The mist watched curiously as its mother panted beneath the man. Her eyes rolled, but hardly in pleasure. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and she spoke through gritted teeth.

"_Cease your incessant prattle, Rodolphus, and just fuck me."_

Enough. The mist shivered and condensed on itself, rolling as a ball into the darkened corridor behind it. There, it brushed against something, something familiar and formidable. Another mist – one with a dark chuckle.

"**Entertained?" **The other mist solidified. Her sharp hands took to him, molding him until he too stood solid before her.

"Aunt Bella?" Why were there tears on his cheeks?

She stroked his face, pouting in the moonlight. **"Yes, dragon?"**

"Why are you doing this?"

She circled him, cold fingers stroking his neck and ears seductively. Her dark, full lips brushed his collar. **"I just want you to see her darkness, darling. Her secrets."**

"You're lying."

"**No," **she said simply. **"Not this time. We're nearly done."**

He shook his head vehemently. "I'm done. No more."

"**Oh, but you'll like this one. I promise." **In a finger's snap, she was mist again and so was he. She rolled through him like a tide, splitting him in two and tugging the pieces after her.

They wafted into his mother's room again, into a scenario Draco recognized immediately.

He saw himself sitting on his mother's bed, fingers fidgeting with his wand. His mother was behind her dressing screen. He was watching the shadowy outline of her naked body as she donned her dressing gown. It was a night in October, the mist remembered…

"_There is nothing more to say, Draco. You should go to bed." Her voice quavered._

"_We kissed, mother." He was sullen._

"_Mothers kiss their sons all the time!"_

"_With tongues?" He challenged._

_She emerged from behind the screen disheveled and angrily flushed. "How dare you!" She spat. "I am under a great deal of stress, Draco! And perhaps we've been…"_

"_Flirting?" _

"_Ridiculous!" Her hands were fists at her sides. "We both need…to get out!" She insisted. "This house is going to kill us. I need some bloody air, and you need –"_

"_A good, hard fuck." He finished._

_Her hand was quick across his face. "Don't speak to me like that." Her wide eyes took him in as she massaged her offending hand._

_Draco slowly turned his face back to her. A tiny dollop of blood beaded on his bottom lip. "That feel nice?" His voice was low._

_Her chin drew up defiantly. "Yes," she hissed._

"_Good." He nodded. "Good," he repeated the word calmly, set his wand on the bed, and rose. "Because I hope this feels just as nice." _

_Quick as a pouncing spider, he wrenched her to him by her shoulders, and crashed his bleeding lips to hers. She struggled mightily, pounded impotent fists into his chest, then melted like the detailed ice sculpture she was. The fists curled into his lapels as her tongue curled into his mouth._

_She was gasping for more when he pulled his mouth away. He threw her on the bed, unbuttoning his cuff links. "Yeah," he breathed. "Felt really nice."_

_She had the audacity to scramble backwards on the bed. "Wait, son!"_

_He dropped his trousers indifferently and snatched her ankle. "Done waiting," he growled. Another brief struggle as he insinuated himself in her thighs. There was a tearing sound, a whimper, and then the bliss of forbidden fornication._

_Draco grunted as he took her. "It's my turn," he rasped in her ear. "I've been yours, and now you're mine. Oh, Merlin, witch…" She was nipping at his neck, sharp teeth occasionally breaking skin. "Tell me I own this cunt, mother."_

"_Draco!"_

_He was perilously close to coming, but her tensing told him she wasn't far behind. "Say it!" He shouted._

"_It's yours! I'm yours, son!"_

"_Yes!" He howled victoriously, slammed his fist into the mattress beside her head, and spilled inside her. She wept when she came – tears he assumed to be guilty. He licked them shamelessly from her face. _

"_Oh, Draco…"_

_He kissed her tenderly, embraced her. "Oh, Narcissa."_

The mist bristled. It found that it could coagulate at will now. The scene before it darkened and dissolved. "So?" Draco asked. "We found comfort in each other." He challenged the solidifying form of his aunt. "She'd never been happy! What's so wrong in –"

"**She's a whore, boy! A slag!" **Bella rounded him, stroking his chest. **"Don't you see, dragon? What I'm showing you is her **_**shame**_**. Her darkest secrets." **

Draco's eyes darkened. "She's…she's not ashamed of me," he whispered. "We're not ashamed together. We know it's wrong, but –"

Bella chuckled. She was dissolving again, her fingers dispersing his form as well. **"I've one more little thing to show you, darling…"**

It happened too quickly. He was mist, then a veritable waterfall, plunging through the floor and into the dining hall. This scenario was far more raucous. Torches were lit, music played and there were Death Eaters. The mist was surrounded by at least thirty masked and robed figures.

It was a Bacchanalia of blackness.

_"Lucius!" Voices chorused, and he saw the recognizable mask of his father pushed to the forefront. "Lucius, look what we've found!"_

_His mother. She struggled against the grips of three figures. "Husband!" She cried._

"_Husband!" The voices mocked. They laughed, shoving his father aside. _

"_Husband, please!" But her voice muffled by the figures pressing her to the dining table. Gloved hands held her mouth, threatened her breathing several times. Gloved hands held her arms to the table, bruised the soft, porcelain skin. Gloved hands tore at her fine, white frock, bared her brutally._

_And one by one, black cloaked bodies took their turns between her battered thighs. Her face – its odd vacancy – reflected in their silver masks…_

The mist shook in fury. It glowed red and nearly flamed into firmness. Draco waved his arms and dispelled the sickening scene. "Fuck you, Bella!" He was not ashamed of these tears – tears of fury and betrayal. "She was a fucking _victim_!"

"**Foolish boy!" **She burst into green glow behind him, matching his anger. **"You look, but you don't **_**see**_**!" **She took his stubborn face in her hands, tilted it back. **"Sometimes, the secrets bury so deeply…they ferment and turn like the finest wine…so delicious…so sweet…yet so tart." **She stared at his lips, traced their lush shape with her fingers. She seemed to study him like an insect on a pin. **"Poor boy. You see, your innocent **_**victim**_** of a mother…" **

She stepped away from him, and delivered her final blow with a slow, scavenger's smile. **"She enjoyed **_**every…last…second.**_**"**

Draco reeled. He felt himself rumble in her truth, boil like a volcano. He shook in rage. "NO!" He shouted, lashed out at the specter.

But his hand connected with only mist, and the mist sucked him in with its dark chuckle, and suddenly he was struggling to the surface from a far distance beneath water. The pressure smothered him. His lungs burned. He saw a pinpoint of light, closed his eyes, and swam.

"Draco!"

He heaved upright, gasping in great breaths of air.

"Oh, Draco! Are you alright?"

He looked to the witch who held him, her desperate eyes scanning his face and her terrified hands soothing his body. This was the mother he honored, the woman he loved, and the whore he thought he knew. His lip curled. "I'm fine." He shoved her away.

She sobbed as he struggled to his knees. He was numb to the weeping.

**AN: **Thanks always for the patience. And to Narcissa's Dragon - a special thanks for letting me keep you up all night...with this piece, I mean. And thanks to my loyal readers and reviewers. You're all so nice to me! I can tell you don't really know me... Check out Brian Eno's song "Baby's on Fire" for a soundtrack to this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

The Intruder

Potter was seeing to Merrik. Draco approached the pair. "Alright?" He asked.

"I'm fine," Merrik answered gruffly. "How are you, boy?"

Draco's lip curled. "I'm fine."

"Possession," Merrik said. "It's a frightening tool. The demon will use it to weaken you both. She'll show you lies and truths designed to break your spirits. You must hold to your strength, to each other."

Draco looked to his mother, kneeling in blood and composing herself. "Right," he said.

"How's your mum?" Potter asked quietly. He was rubbing the back of his head.

"She'll be alright," Draco answered. "Your head?"

"I've had worse." Harry looked squarely at Malfoy. "Is what she said true, Draco? Are you –"

"Would you be surprised, Potter?" Draco spat. "At the sickness of the Malfoys?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean anything like that."

Merrik pushed urgently between the two younger men. "Bloody hell," he grumbled. "See to your mother, boy!"

Draco turned. Narcissa lay upon the bloody floor as if pushed over. She was unresponsive, eyes open and glazed. Merrik and Draco dropped beside her at once. "Mother!"

"Damn." Merrik grimaced. "She's taken."

"Taken?" Draco asked.

"As you were." The Unspeakable took Narcissa's head in his hands, gently rolled her to face him. "Naught to do now but wait."

Draco's lip quivered. Bella had his mother. Was showing his mother things like she'd shown him. He felt bile rise up in his throat. _She can't know everything_, he thought. _Merlin, please. She can't know everything._

It was no new experience, really, for Narcissa to be mist. She'd entered this state more than once on her own terms. She looked down on herself – well, her physical self – watched her son and Merrik fuss over her. Draco pulled her gently to his lap, his face creased in concern. Odd, considering what he'd just seen.

**Not odd at all, actually.**

Cissa turned to see her equally misty sister standing quite near her. **He's dreadfully worried about what you shall see in his shame. **Glossy black curls brushed Narcissa's shoulder.

"Bella. There is nothing you can show me that will make me hate my son."

**I don't want you to hate him, Cissy. **They were dissolving. **I just want you to know him, as he now knows you.**

"I do know him, Bella. I know what he's seen, what he's done."

**Do you, mother? **She chuckled darkly. **Look.**

Narcissa followed Bella's finger, and suddenly she saw not the dining hall, but her husband's study. And on the black leather couch, lounging in his radiant glory, was her husband Lucius…with her son's head in his lap.

It took her a moment to process, to truly realize what she was seeing. But when the recognition hit, it was like being punched in the neck. Her breath caught in her throat. "Draco…"

He didn't hear her, of course. It was the past she witnessed – her son's most secret past. And she understood why. She wept behind her hand, not looking, but listening to her husband's well-remembered voice.

_"Very good, Draco… You're your mother's son… I see the Slytherin seventh years still hold to the house's finest traditions… Mm… Slow a bit, son… Yes, there… Not so hard… Don't scrape… Mmm… Very, very good, Draco…"_

Then there was breathing, and the sound of spitting. Narcissa coughed at the heavy liquid hitting the wood floor.

"_Father?"_

"_Yes, Draco?"_

"_May I go now?"_

"_Of course." _

She heard her son scurrying to the door. _"And Draco?"_

"_Yes, Father?"_

"_This is still our secret."_

"_Of course, Father."_

"_Good. I would hate to…hurt your mother in any way with the knowledge. Agreed?"_

"_Yes, Father." _Her son's voice was tight. She recognized it as his angry, restrained voice. Then Draco was gone. She took one last look at her sickening, satisfied husband and rushed after her son. He went to his own chambers, darted immediately into the connected lavatory and bent over the sink. He rinsed his mouth repeatedly, face red with fury and hurt.

She approached him.

Mist can't touch. It can't comfort. Nor can it reach into the past. But this mist was still a mother, and she wanted to soothe her son. "Oh, Draco…" Her heart belched blood. She shook with anger and with sadness as her young man collected himself. He must have been about fifteen…

"_Draco!" _Her own voice.

He looked out the door of the loo. _"Yes, mother?"_

"_Dinner in ten minutes!" _Then she saw herself standing in his room, looking icy as ever in a long, black dress. _"Alright, son?"_

"_Yes, mother."_

She'd smiled at him. _Smiled _at him. And touched his shoulder. _"You look a bit flushed. Why not have a lie-down first?"_

"_Yes, mother."_

And she'd left him. The mist watched herself turn and walk away without a second thought. "Was I so blind? So stupid?"

**Were you? Or was his shame just so silencing? Did you ever speak of yours?**

"Goddamn you, Bella!"

**He already did, love. Look! **Again, the demon pointed and Narcissa watched her son ward his door securely and fall into his bed. Feverishly, he took his young, erect cock in his hand and began to stroke with no finesse. He seemed lost, determined to injure himself in his pleasure. _"Oh, please… Yes, please…" _He muttered a constant stream of desperate appeals and the mist looked away, embarrassed.

**Wait!** Bella shifted the mist's head back toward the boy on the bed. **It gets better.**

He was close, lips curled lewdly, propped on one elbow as if seeing the spectacle of his ejaculation made it more real. _"Fuck, yes… Fuck you feel good, witch… Yesyesyesyesyes…" _A final grimace and his head snapped back. White spray exploded over his hand and clothes and: _"YES! Mother! Narcissa! Fuck, yes…"_

The mist swirled. Fury made it blush. It shoved at the laughing fiend, succeeded in upsetting its balance. "Get me out of here," Narcissa spat. "Take me back to him. NOW!"

But Bella laughed harder as Draco's room dissolved around them, evaporated. **Must be flattering, mummy? Eh? Knowing the ickle dragon wanted his first taste to be you? Oh…wait. It was **_**daddy**_**, though. How tragic…**

"Enough, Bella. Take me back to him." The mist was defeated. "Please…"

**Oh, Cissy. Not just yet. Look. **

So Narcissa opened her eyes again, dreading what was to come. And she was right to.

She recognized the Malfoy cellars. She recognized the huddling, dirty witch in the corner. "No," she whispered. "Please, not this." A sound from behind her made her turn. The iron gates at the cellar's entrance crashed open and the captive looked toward the brief shaft of light.

Her face was puffy, bruised. Scrapes and cuts distorted what might have been a pretty visage, and blood matted in her golden hair.

**You do remember Charity Burbage, Cissy?**

"Of course, I do," Narcissa answered through tense lips as a masked Death Eater came to stand before the unfortunate Hogwarts professor.

Bella chuckled. **Draco remembers her, too.**

Narcissa squinted at the masked man. He wore no robes, but a trim black suit. And his mask was unfamiliar; a tight grin of a mouth with fang-like protuberances and scaly black embellishment. It spoke of dragon-ness. "Draco?" She whispered.

Her misty sister leaned into her space. An almost tangible breath brushed her ear. **Bingo…**

"_They sent me to feed you." _He tossed a platter of what looked like leftovers to the floor before the witch. It clattered heavily. _"Elf's work, in my opinion." _

"_Please," _Charity Burbage spoke. _"Please, let me go. You don't have to do this! You don't want to do this!"_

Draco suddenly dropped to his knees beside the captive. _"You don't know me. So don't presume. You're a guest of the Dark Lord…and you do as you're told."_

Charity nodded quickly, stuttering. _"Yes! Yes, of course! But I can tell…you're not like the others. This isn't in you! The darkness. The evil. I can tell! I can tell you're good. You're a good boy!" _Her words were breathy and desperate. Narcissa tried not to hear them, but it seemed being mist made her senses keener.

There was a scuff of shoes on stone as Draco shifted. And with an abrupt jolt, he punched the witch. She and the mist mother cried out in tandem as the Death Eater spoke viciously behind his mask. _"I'm hardly good, mudblood-lover! And I'm no longer a boy."_

A clatter followed as the tray of food was shoved aside. The sounds of struggle and weeping had Narcissa clapping her hands over her ears. "Stop!" She shouted.

But this Draco was a past Draco – not the son and tender lover she now drew to her bed every evening. And he was tearing at the older witch's already tattered dress. _"No! No, please!" _Burbage wrestled, but Draco was wire and muscle and bone. The weaker party was soon pinned, and a sharp, resounding slap silenced her pleading.

"_How good am I now?" _Draco was maneuvering himself between her awkwardly bent knees.

"No," Narcissa murmured.

"_Is this a good boy? You stupid fucking witch?" _He was furiously stroking his flaccid cock in the glistening glare from wet flinty walls.

"Goddess, please," Narcissa felt tears in her eyes. "Oh, my son…" It was possible after all for mist to cry.

And she heard the crying in her boy's voice – her boy trying so desperately to prove his worth to a worthless cause. Her heart was breaking, and she knew Draco's was, too. She heard his grunt as he pushed inside the dry, defeated witch beneath him.

Charity Burbage screamed the scream a woman only screams in the moment she's deemed inhuman by a man, weakened by his force, taken by his will. She wept like a witch who was doomed to the stake and knew that fate. _"Don't! You don't have to! Stop! PLEASE! Listen to me, Draco! You are not this man!"_

Hearing his name called, Draco froze. His mist mother froze, as well. Charity continued to wail, only a little more softly. _"I do know you, Draco Malfoy. I never taught you, but I know you. I know your circumstances. I can help! We can help each other! We can both escape this! Please?"_

Draco remained statue-still atop the witch, obviously sickly limp inside her, his arms trembling from supporting his weight and her weakly clawing hands. He didn't even seem to be breathing, and Narcissa held her breath, too.

Then, a spell broken, a moment of atonement lost, he shoved away from his victim. He straggled to his feet, affixing his trousers and attire, straightening his skewed mask. _"He'll kill you," _Draco spat. _"He'll kill you and I'm glad." _Leaving, he turned one last time to the snivelling Burbage. His voice shook. _"And you don't know me. No one knows me." _

He watched for one second longer as the witch curled fetally, groaning and pressing hands into her assaulted groin. Narcissa watched him back to the cellar steps, unable to look away from the woman he'd nearly destroyed completely. Finally, the scene began to shimmer and shift, and she felt Bella's ethereal fingers on her shoulders.

**Ready for more, mother?**

Narcissa turned without turning – an advantage of being mist. "No." She spoke firmly. "No more, Bella." Her voice took on a ring, an echo. "You've no longer the power over me." Her mist began to glow – a soft, warm gold. "I'm going back to my son. Only together can we defeat you. And we will."

Bellatrix dissolved herself, her tendrils of black mist coiling to surround her dissipating sister. But Narcissa's magic was stronger – or her intentions tenacious – and her glow sizzled the wispy darkness to cinders. "We will, Bella," she repeated as Bellatrix howled her anger.

She danced directly into pain and blinding light, arched stiffly in her son's arms. A wave of heat rolled out of her abdomen, humid and insistent. It pulsed once, ruffling the hair of the three wizards surrounding her, then settled back into her belly. She gasped. "DRACO!"

"I'm here, mother!" His arm clutched her to him beneath her breasts, but she swiveled in the grip and faced him manically.

Her arms wrapped him so tightly he fell backward onto the floor, and she fell with him. She was crying shamelessly. "I love you!" She bawled. "I love you and I'm so, so _sorry_!"

His face tightened. So she'd seen… Bella had shown his mother his shame just as she'd shown him his mother's. He scowled imagining each atrocity she might have witnessed. But his arms tightened around her just the same and he pushed them upright. How could he hate this witch - this witch who forgave him as easily as the fall of a bird feather?

She was still weeping, rubbing her wet face against his soft cotton shirt. "If I had known, Draco! I would have… Oh, gods!"

He needed to show her all was well. He needed her to not cry, to be strong with him. And he needed to do it in the way they did things.

So despite the presence of Potter and Merrik, and despite the desperation of their situation, he took his mother's face in his hands and kissed her soundly on her lips. He tasted tears, drank them. She whined helplessly into his mouth, clutched at his shoulders.

Potter and Merrik looked away uncomfortably. The Unspeakable made his way to a chair. "I…I need to rest a bit, I'm afraid." He sighed and closed his eyes. "The spirit's presence has waned for now." He cocked his head toward the Malfoys embracing behind him. "The witch…she has a way of weakening the demon. It's the bond they share. The blood." He was wheezing shallowly. "The blood is the key…"

Harry nodded, gripped the older wizard's hand. "Draco." He didn't look at the snogging mother and son, but cringed anyway.

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry jumped. He hadn't heard Draco stand, much less approach him. "Merrik needs to rest," he explained. He rubbed at his eyes. "Perhaps we all do."

"You're staying here?" The surprise in Draco's voice could not be tempered.

"I think it's best we all stick together for now," Harry replied.

"Agreed," Narcissa spoke quietly. She looked haggard standing beside her son. "Let's take the guest chambers on the second floor. Clustered together, we shall be safe."

"Right." Potter helped Merrik to his feet. "Will you be able to sleep, sir?"

Merrik grimaced and stretched his legs. "I'm afraid my age will make me sleep, Mr. Potter." He looked at Narcissa. "You pushed her out," he said. "Out of your mind. You shook her grasp. Do you know how you did it?"

Cissa shook her head. "No. I just…did it."

"It's your blood," Merrik said. "It's both a blessing and a curse, you see. Binding her here, but pushing her away. Somehow, the blood is the key."

"How?" Narcissa pressed.

"Unknown now," Merrik said sadly. "I must think. And rest. Show us to chambers, please?"

"Of course." With a glance between them that said 'we'll talk later,' the Malfoys led Potter and the Unspeakable up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. "Good night," Narcissa murmured to the old man outside a bedroom door. "Mr. Potter." She nodded to Harry.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Merrik said tiredly. "Tomorrow. We discuss some measures."

She nodded at his ambiguity, and the two pairs parted ways in the dark, quiet house.


	9. Chapter 9

The Intruder

Chapter 9

In their dim, silent room, Narcissa immediately stripped off her bloodied frock. She dropped it where she stood and stepped gingerly toward the lavatory. Her bare feet tracked blood lightly in her wake. Draco leaned against the wall by the door, just watching her. When she disappeared into the loo, he closed his eyes. _What am I to say to her?_

The sound of running water. "Draco?" He opened his eyes. She stood in the bathroom doorway, lit from behind and holding a towel over her nudity. "Come bathe?"

His throat tightened when she turned away. _What did Bella show her?_ He stripped, too, left the disgusting clothes in a heap beside his mother's. With their elf dead, he supposed the manor would go to filth.

The room was chilly. He wand-lit a fire in the floo. Narcissa was huddled in a steaming bath, knees drawn up to her chest. She didn't look at him. There was blood caked in her hair, dried nearly black. He stepped into the garden tub across from her, stared at her.

She spoke without meeting his eyes. "What did she show you?"

He told her in a passionless monotone. Inflection came only in his questioning. "Is it true, mother? You enjoyed what they did to you? What Bella did? Her husband? Are you truly ashamed of me?"

She was shaking her head. When she finally looked at him, her eyes were rimmed red and he could see she was crying. "Oh, Draco… How can I explain?" Her hand slapped the surface of the dirty water. "I was so _numb _for so _long_! I welcomed _any_ sensation!" Her sobs punctuated her explanation. He watched a line of mucus drip from her nose to her mouth – this proper witch. "I wanted to be destroyed, I think. I wanted to disappear. I _hated_ myself! And I was _terrified_ that blackness would swallow you like it did me! And it _did_!" She broke down, reached for him. Their arms tangled over the swirling mire. "I'm so _sorry_, Draco! So fucking _sorry_ for what you did – what you felt you had to do! For your father –"

"So she showed you that?" Draco spat. His hands tightened painfully on her forearms and she gasped. She nodded, face a wreck of emotions and fervent fluids. "He told me…" Draco hissed. "He told me when I was a boy…that it was better me than you."

"Oh, Draco!" She wrenched her arms from his grasp and threw them around his wet, sticky shoulders. "My son! If I had known…I would have torn him asunder!"

"Don't you see?" Draco asked, shoving at her arms, slapping at her hands. "It was always _you_! He used _you _to threaten me! To keep me silent! You could never have known! He might have killed you!"

"Let me hold you, goddamn you!" Narcissa screamed. She wrestled harder with his sinewy, flailing arms. "I love you, Draco! Despite your past! Despite what your fucking father did! You think he ruined you? That he broke you?" Finally, she gripped his elbows and managed to wrench him against her. "You are stronger than he _ever_ was! Strong enough to resist the darkness. I saw you resist it! I saw you walk away from that woman!"

He slumped in the water, let her gather him to her. "You saw that, too."

"Yes, darling." She stroked his dirty neck. "I know that must have been…awful. I – I can't imagine."

"I couldn't save her, though!"

"None of us could have," Narcissa snapped back, frustrated. "We were all impotent puppets in our own house, son! He would have killed any of us on a whim. He used us against each other!"

Draco buried his face in her neck. "It doesn't matter now. It's over now." He held her face suddenly, wrestled her forehead to his. "Now I just want to know – are you ashamed of me? Of this? Of _us_, mother?"

"No, baby!" She held his head in hands desperate as his own. "No, my love. I was for a time – ashamed that my darkness had tainted you! Afraid I had…ruined you – corrupted you."

"You can't corrupt what's already polluted, mother." He kissed her tears, her snotty lips. "I thought we saved each other. I thought our singular foulnesses somehow…negated each other. I think we've absolved each other. Don't you?"

She was nodding, starting to smile, seeing his sense and feeling the relief in knowing he didn't hate her. "Yes, Draco. Yes. I do. I see!"

"Show me," he growled, pulling her atop him. He was instantly hard – as only a man of his age can be – and inside her. She gasped at the unexpected burn, but she didn't resist.

They needed the connection; pressed their bodies together in the filthy eddies, kissed away tears and phlegm, tangled fingers in blood-drenched hair. They were desperate for orgasm, for release, but it was clouded by emotion and exhaustion.

Frustrated, Draco acquiesced and slowed. He remained inside her as he washed her hair and let her wash his. They soaped a flannel and washed each other's skin, turning the action to caresses, never breaking their connection.

Cleanliness being next to godliness, sensation returned. Frenzy turned to fulfillment. Desperation diluted to lovemaking. The dirty water splashed over the tub rim and to the floor as they moved as one. They kissed and stroked with gentleness. Accusation and shame, fear and betrayal, secrets and lies – all were dissolved by bliss, by union.

They came with grimaces of pleasure, not pain, crying out each other's names like benedictions.

In the diminished and cooled bath, Narcissa flattened her palm over her son's slowing heartbeat. "We mustn't let her weaken us again."

Draco took the hand to his lips. "We mustn't let anyone weaken us, mother." He reached behind himself, pulled the plug to drain the sullied water, and turned the taps for a pure, hot spray. "Whose blood do you suppose it is?"

Narcissa shrugged, letting him shift them so she lay against his chest. "Perhaps those who died here? Those who were Bella's victims?"

Draco snorted. "She was a busy bitch."

His mother kissed his jaw, kicked her feet in the warming water. "Yes, yes she was."

His arms tightened around her. "What does Merrik mean by saying the blood is the key?"

"I don't know, son. I suppose he shall tell us once he's done revising."

"Mm." He kissed her temple. "Well. So long as it gets rid of her. And means no harm to you."

Narcissa swallowed and attempted a comforting smile. "Of course, love." But her eyes darkened when she settled her head beneath his chin again. She had a feeling there would be harm involved. And she had a certainty that there would be blood.

* * *

><p>In the morning, the blood was gone. In its place was a crust of flaking brown. It swirled in dust motes, and Narcissa and Draco vanished it with their wands as they made their way to breakfast. Potter and Merrik were already settled at the table. They had dropped the heavy draperies from the windows, it seemed, and sunlight flooded the dining hall.<p>

Merrik looked up when the Malfoys entered. "Oh, good," he said. "Neither of you died in the night."

Draco scowled disbelievingly. "Does that happen often?"

"In cases such as these? More often than not." Merrik took up his cup of tea.

"Shall I prepare a breakfast?" Narcissa asked. "I'm certain we have some –"

"All spoiled." It was Harry who spoke.

Narcissa blinked. "Pardon?"

"I looked already. All the food in the house is spoiled." His nose wrinkled. "Badly. It reeked, so I vanished it."

"I see." Cissa's lips pursed. "I apologize, then. I'm afraid the elf did most of our…procuring. But if you like, I could –"

"Best if we do not eat." Merrik said calmly. "Except for you, Mrs. Malfoy. And I've some protein and iron rich rations for you. I came prepared."

"Prepared?" Alarm bled into Draco's tone. "What do you mean prepared? Iron rich?" He looked worriedly at his mother, who seemed unfazed by the turn of conversation.

Merrik sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I've a plan. It will work. But it is risky."

"Risky?" Draco glanced between Potter and the Unspeakable. "How risky? In what way?"

Merrik's empty cup clinked into its saucer. He steepled his fingers upon the table, and began his explanation. "The spirit in this house is connected to the inhabitants here. It is able to thrive because the two of you allow it unwittingly."

"How?" Narcissa asked. "What can we do?"

"I believe you've begun already," Merrik answered. "You must resist the entity's entreaties, its vexations. I was pleased this morning to feel it significantly weakened – as evidenced by the lack of blood on your walls."

"But what else?" Draco asked suspiciously. "What does it want?"

"Your lives," Merrik said simply. "Or your deaths. However you wish to see it."

Draco scoffed, flicked a hand dismissively. "Well, fuck that, old man. The bitch will be leaving exactly as she showed up – with nothing. You can go back to the old drawing board."

"There's a way," Potter spoke up. "But you won't like it."

"I already don't like it," Draco replied sharply. "And I haven't even heard it. Perhaps you both should go now. My mother and I can handle this on our own."

"Draco, please." Narcissa uttered softly. "Let us accept the help the goddess has so graciously sent us." She patted her son's arm, but looked to Merrik. "One of us needs to die. Correct?"

Merrik nodded solemnly. Draco leapt from the table, upsetting the tea tray there. "Hell, no." He muttered, pacing. "No."

"I did it once," Potter said. "Wasn't so bad." Then he added quickly, excitedly. "It's a trick, though! Just listen to the plan."

"Fuck no!" Draco turned briskly. "I've spoken. No means no means bloody _no_. No tricks. How can we assume tricks will work? The thing is probably listening right now, learning every –"

"If it was a presence at this moment, I would know." Merrik interrupted. "It is not. It is resting. Regenerating. Growing stronger by the moment to make its odious presence known again and ten times more dangerous. We must strike while it is weak, lure it to the kill."

"The _kill_?" Draco stood behind his mother, hands curling over the back of her chair. "What kill?"

Merrik met the young Malfoy's eyes gravely. "We must make it _appear _that one of you has died."

"How so?"

"You must trust me," Merrik said.

"How so?" Draco repeated sharply.

"By using the only language the demon seems to speak. Blood."

"I don't understand," Draco said. Harry grimaced sympathetically.

"I do." Narcissa looked at Merrik squarely. "It will work?"

"What will work?" Draco asked.

"She will come to the blood." Merrik confirmed to Narcissa. "And on this plane, we shall weaken her with magic. While on the other plane…"

"What plane?" Draco was darting eyes between his mother and the Unspeakable.

"I will confront her as I already have." Cissa nodded. "When shall we begin?"

"STOP!" Draco stepped hotly beside his mother. "What are you beginning? Mother, what are you going to do?"

Narcissa smiled at Merrik and Potter. "May I speak to my son alone, please?"

"Do what you must." Merrik rose and gestured to Harry. "We shall prepare."

"Yeah," Draco sneered. "Go prepare your…preparations." He looked down at his mother. "The old man speaks in riddles and Potter stares at me as if he just kicked my puppy. What the hell are you going to do, mum?"

"Sit, son." He sat, turned in his chair and stared expectantly at her. She took his hands in hers. "Draco. I love you." He tensed, made to rise, but she tugged him back to his seat. "I must do what is necessary to rid us of Bella."

"And what's that?" Draco asked defensively. "If it requires you telling me you love me beforehand, I doubt I will care for it."

"I trust Merrik," Narcissa said. "I have always had a…knack for finding trustworthy people. And I trust him with my life."

"With your life?" He repeated slowly. "Mother…"

"I'm going to let Merrik bleed me. Until I am nearly dead." She paused, watched him absorb this information. "Or dead entirely. Either way, I trust he has a way to save me."

She expected an explosion. Instead, Draco just shook his head. "No. Not you. If it has to be done, let me do it. I'm…younger. I'm stronger. I can –"

"Exactly, dragon!" Narcissa stroked his hair from his face, over his ear. "You are strong! You are a very powerful wizard and Potter and Merrik will need your magic here! Fighting Bella _here_. I will face her another way."

He looked hopeless. His eyes clouded. "There's nothing I can say, is there?"

She rubbed a tear away from his eye. "There's no other option, Draco."

"What if we leave?" He asked, suddenly alight. "Leave the manor. Don't look back. Ever!" He took hold of her comforting hand. "We could go by the sea, mum! You would love that! And I could buy a boat – a fishing boat. And –"

"Draco."

"Fuck! What?" He groaned.

"She would find us. It would only be a matter of time. And like Merrik said, she grows stronger every day. Soon, she would kill us both. And then, she would win."

He was quiet. He bowed his head, wept in that way young men have of hiding the weeping. "If you die," he said slowly, "I won't be able to go on. I won't know how to live."

Narcissa's eyes closed. "Someday, Draco…you will be without me, anyway."

"But not for a long time, Narcissa!" He insisted. "Not for almost forever! And I want that." His wet eyes flashed blue at her. "I _want _that forever!"

She fought against her own emotions, determined to be strong, to convince her son. "Then I simply mustn't die."

"Promise me." He sniffed.

"I promise you."

"Give me an Unbreakable Vow," he said passionately. He clutched her hand to his chest.

She had to lean toward him. "Draco! I can't do that. That's ridiculous!"

"Do it, or I shan't agree to it."

She blinked. "Draco…if I die…and Merrik can't revive me…then any vow between us means nothing."

"It means something to me." He was insistent. "It means my mother…my lover…meant her promise. That she will come back to me. Because…I'm not ready, mother." He spoke over her head-shaking and murmured protests. "Narcissa. I'm not ready to lose you. Not yet. Please."

She stared at him, gaped. Finally surrendered. "Gods, Draco…fine. Very well."

Draco sprang from his chair. "Potter!" He was already calling on his way to the door.

Harry had never officiated an Unbreakable Vow. Narcissa walked him through the beginning steps, and when she and Draco were kneeling, facing one another and clasping hands, Harry touched his wand to their linked fingers.

Draco spoke.

"Will you, Narcissa, return to me alive and well from harm or death in the coming attempt to banish the entity Bellatrix Lestrange from our midst?"

"I will." A lick of silvery flame slid from Harry's wand and around their hands. Narcissa looked as though she was done with the matter, as if she intended to rise, but Draco's sudden tightened grip caught her attention.

He continued. "And will you remain mine until such time as natural death claims you or myself?"

She appeared slightly panicked at this unexpected turn. "Draco, you didn't –"

"Will you?"

Her eyes briefly flicked to Potter's, but his expression as he looked at their joined hands was unreadable. She sighed. "I will."

A second silvery flame licked their skin. The strands became snakes, and after flirting with each other for a moment, the magical reptiles locked jaws in a brutal bind. The link glowed brightly, flared like a dying star, then died. The coils around their hands seemed palpable for a moment, but dissolved when Harry withdrew his wand.

Potter cleared his throat nervously. "Er…anything else?" He asked.

"That will be quite sufficient, Mr. Potter," Narcissa clipped. Harry left, awkwardly backing away before stalking from the dining hall.

Draco stared softly at his mother. "Thank you," he said.

She snatched her hand away from his, held it to her chest as though it burned. "I fear you will come to regret those foolish words, Draco. That you will lead us both to regret." She stood and turned away from him.

His hand slid over her shoulder, pulled her hair away from her neck. He settled his lips on the skin over her pulse and she couldn't resist leaning into his embrace. "I forbid us to know further regret, mother."

"Oh, Draco." She turned her head and kissed him. It was certainly pretty to think he was right…

* * *

><p>Merrik chose the drawing room because it 'drew the most light.' He and Potter and the Malfoys spent a little time magically whisking all the furnishings to the walls, clearing the floor in the center of the room. There, they placed a solitary dining chair.<p>

"You will sit here, Mrs. Malfoy." He gestured. She sat calmly. Draco stood beside her while Merrik plumbed the depths of his obviously charmed valise a few steps away. When he emerged with a truly wicked black boline, Draco leaned against the arm of the chair.

"That?" Draco gestured to the boline.

Merrik didn't answer. In the warm red late afternoon sun, the Unspeakable cut an intimidating figure in his priestly robes. He moved to stand before Narcissa. "The presence is waking," he said. "It senses some change. I believe our timing will be perfect."

"Thank you." The witch inclined her head. She thanked him for a great many things with very few words. Merrik seemed to understand.

"You're a strong witch," he said. "And brave. Blood given willingly to protect is poison to these creatures. She will drink it, and be weakened. When you come across her in the veil plane, know she is not as strong as you."

Narcissa nodded, took a deep breath. Draco touched her face and she looked at him. "Remember your vow," he whispered.

She stroked his hand with her own cool fingers. "How could I forget?" She tugged at his hand and, before Potter and the Unspeakable, kissed her son softly, sweetly on his lips – a lover's kiss.

"That's not good-bye." Draco told her firmly.

She smiled. "No."

"We should begin," Merrik stated.

Reverie broken, Draco stepped away. His mother presented her bare arms palms up to Merrik. The old wizard took a step forward. Two swift, practiced swipes later, Narcissa's forearms were opened deeply. Both Potter and Draco winced and looked away.

"Now. Relax." Merrik instructed. The witch lowered her arms. Blood pooled in her hanging, listless palms, dripped from her elegantly curled fingers to the floor. Her breathing slowed. When Draco finally looked back at his mother, the dripping had become a stream, and her lovely blue eyes had begun to glaze.

But he had no time to fear. Merrik began barking orders. "Boys. To your posts. Wands at ready. Try to remember the incantations, but if you forget, have the parchment handy." A breeze ruffled the stale air. "It comes," Merrik said. "So predictable…"

The breeze chilled and heavied. Black tendrils swirled into a tornado. The tornado concentrated and became Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was as oddly beautiful as she had been at their dining table the evening before. But now she seemed less ethereal. In fact, she seemed down right confused. She took in the faces in the room, seethed without comment. Her gaze settled on her quickly paling sister.

She glided to Narcissa, something akin to sympathy ascribed on her face. "You stupid witch…" Her voice hollowed and echoed. "What have you done?"

"She sacrificed herself," Draco replied, as rehearsed. "So take her and go!"

"Impudent whelp!" She flared green. "When I go, I take you both!" She circled Narcissa's chair. The Malfoy witch stared unseeing into a void. Bella was suspicious, but her black, dead tongue swept out over full, cracked lips. The smell of sister-blood was intoxicating, alluring…

Bella suddenly bent. Her eyes flicked to Potter, Merrik, Draco. She was for all the world like a predator coveting its prey, daring the other predators to attack. But seeing them at bay – albeit with wands trained on her – she felt no threat.

Tenderly, her skeletal fingers cradled Narcissa's face. "I'll take you, Cissy. It's as it should be. You'll make me strong. I'll show you, then – when I come back for your precious boy…" Narcissa made a choking sound, and Bella kissed her lips. "How beautiful you are in death, Cissy. How perfectly tragically fuckable."

Her tongue slipped from her lips again, this time pointing and elongating. Like a gorgon's sharp proboscis, it danced over Narcissa's gaping wound. A gargling sound erupted from Bella's throat. Pleasure contorted her features. The tongue probed further into the bleeding slit. Narcissa's head lolled on her shoulders, her eyes rolling back.

Draco started forward as if driven by instinct. Merrik stopped him with an arm across the chest. "Don't," he warned. Draco stared helplessly as Bella's head dipped in earnest and her mouth settled over her sister's laceration. Long moments passed while the beast drank, and when she finally pulled away, Narcissa slumped forward fully.

"No!" Draco shouted, lunging against Merrik's arm.

Bella heaved, triumphant and rampant, her wild mane of black hair thrown back. Her body seemed to unhinge as she turned her head nearly backward to regard Draco. A shoulder popped as it lowered. Her spine crackled. She was lowering herself to the floor one joint at a time. "You're next, dragon," she teased. Her elbows turned inward. "Get those wands ready, boys."

Like a sea serpent, her belly dipped low. Her head followed, rocking down and side to side like a cobra until she was level with her sister's spreading pool on the floor.

Shamelessly, she began to lap and outright suck at the blood there as well, making moans of pleasure as she drank.

Draco sagged defeated against Merrik, looked away from his obviously dead mother. It had been so quick… But then he felt Merrik tense. He heard Potter's footsteps. "Now, boy." The Unspeakable shoved him away.

Bella stood. Her joints again popped and creaked. She swayed on her feet. "What…" She staggered forward, made to lean against Cissa's chair, but missed a bit. She landed across her dead sister's lap. Slowly, she turned her head toward Merrik. Her cheek was red with the blood soaking Narcissa's fair frock. "You…"

She shoved herself away from Narcissa's corpse. She was quite corporeal now, Draco saw. "What have you done, you hackneyed magician?" She staggered, laughing maniacally. "You think your parlor tricks can…can…can defeat me?"

But despite her words, she swayed. She reached for a hold on something, but there was no support near her. She fell gracelessly. On the floor, half in Narcissa's congealing blood, she pressed a hand to her chest. "Heart…how can it…" She clutched her hair and roared, wailed. "_Human! I'm human again! Damn you Merrik! Damn you Cissy! No. No!_"

Her ghastly wails continued as three wizards approached, their wands striking light in the falling darkness. Their voices mingled and carried magical words meant to strike at the demon's new beating heart…

**AN:** Please, forgive the long delay. I have received a kick in the arse from an unexpected source - thank you, sleepless in vermont, and take care. And thanks to those of you who have followed and favorited this story. We're one chapter away from the end, and I promise it will come sooner than this one did.


	10. Chapter 10

The Intruder

Bella was nude. Her hair floated around her like polished serpentine ringlets. She was ethereal, angelic. Not at all what Narcissa had expected. "Sister…"

"Cissy." Even her voice rang musically, a delicate trill. She floated toward Narcissa, drifted through the mists of the astral plane where they lingered. "I'm done for. You know that?"

"You left us no choice, Bella. I couldn't let you harm my son."

The spirit chuffed softly. "Your son… You've come to finish me here, I assume? A final battle for power and glory?"

"I just want you gone, Bella. Back to the realm of the dead."

Bella chuckled. The chuckle turned to a violent cackle. She twirled, stirring mist into a red glow, and grabbed her sister's thin shoulders. "Oh, Cissy. That's _here_! Didn't you know?"

Narcissa squinted. Blinked. Her thoughts seemed as fuzzy as the mist about them. "I'm…I'm dead, then?"

She looked down at her own nakedness.

"Yes, yes." Bella circled predatorily. "Such selfless sacrifice for your sweet little boy. It complicates things."

"What do you mean?" Even as an intangible being, Narcissa felt threatened by Bella's deep grin and sultry growl.

"I mean I had it all figured out until you made that ridiculous decision. You know I can't resist your precious blood. Unfortunately, my weakness has trapped me here. Again. So…"

"What are you talking about Bella?"

"I was meant for your body, Cissy. For any body, I suppose. But I rather had my mind set on yours for…sentimental reasons." She brushed fingers across Narcissa's cheek. "Oh, well. I suppose at least now we shall have each other. For eternity."

But Narcissa was smiling and shaking her head. "I don't think so, Bella." She laughed her own laugh. "I don't think I'm meant to stay here with you. At least not yet. Not ever, actually. As this is just one of your tricks."

"What?" Bella's gentle fingers had hardened beneath Cissa's chin.

"I promised Draco, you see." Narcissa started to fade, to become ever so subtly invisible. "I gave him an Unbreakable Vow."

Bella was wide-eyed and attempting to grasp her sister's dissipating form. "What Vow? Cissy! Narcissa!"

"I vowed to return to him, Bella."

"NO!" Bella flared red, hair exploding in a halo of furious frizz. "You bitch! You can't! Damn you, Cissy!" She hissed into mist…and made one final lunge.

* * *

><p>Narcissa suddenly hurt. She was very aware of burning and an acute throbbing. She felt the burn of magic on her body and heard voices echoing as if from far above her.<p>

"Is she alive?" Draco.

"Yes, boy. Stand back." The gruff tone of Merrik. Her sight was blurry. She could barely make out faces. Another wave of magic hit her and she howled at the burn. "Forgive me, witch." Merrik said softly. "But by all rights, you should be dead." Then he was snapping at Draco and Potter. "Prepare blankets. Warming charms. Blood replenishing potion. We'll get her stable here before we move her." They must have dallied or moved too slowly for Merrik's taste because he bellowed: "NOW!"

Narcissa turned. She felt tough, hard hands pressing at her back. A wave of pain clenched her body and she opened her eyes only to see her sister staring back. "Bella…" Her voice was weak.

"Damn," Merrik muttered. He turned her the other way, but Narcissa's head refused to let go Bella's empty gaze.

It took a moment for the reality to coalesce; that Narcissa was gazing not into her living sister's eyes, but the eyes of her sister's corpse. And slowly, that corpse started to evaporate, to mist into molecules and rise like steam. "Bella…"

Then warmth engulfed her. Lips touched her forehead. "Mother, you'll be fine. Just stay with me." And Draco's arms enfolded her as darkness descended.

It seemed that days passed in a haze of darkness and muffled voices. Narcissa was content to rock in a bastion of softness, her bed, warmed by charms and her son's arms at night. Draco whispered to her, and often, she recognized Merrik's sure and solid tones reciting some spell or other.

"It's been three days."

"These things take time, boy."

"She's so weak."

"There was a great deal of blood loss. And quite a few minutes without oxygen. We're fortunate she responds at all. Unbreakable Vow… Foolishness! It nearly destroyed our plans."

"Well, it didn't!" Draco spat venemously. He was fussing with her duvet. "And what would you have had me do? Let my mother die? In front of me? No one loves me like this woman. Never will."

"It's unnatural."

"Mind your business, old man. Your time here is nearly done, anyway. When she's well, you may never trouble yourself with our unnaturalness again."

"Someday you will have to let her go."

"Someday is not today. If you're done for now, get out." There was a soft snick of the door closing and Draco's sigh. Narcissa moaned. "Mother?" His face clouded her vision and she tried a smile.

"You're being impossible," she whispered.

He grinned, cradled her and kissed her cheek. "I've been worried sick. How do you feel?"

"Weak." Her eyes were drifting closed again.

"I'll send for some broth."

"Blood…"

"What, mum?"

Her stomach growled. Her mouth erupted in saliva. "I want blood," she murmured. Sleep reclaimed her, leaving her son blinking and creasing his forehead. He consulted Merrik immediately.

But Merrik said it was normal. "She'll need to replenish her iron. She's craving it." The elderly wizard moved certainly about their kitchen. "I'll prepare something for you to take her. And I'll see her once more before I leave."

Draco watched him from the doorway. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything. And I'm sorry I was…harsh earlier." The words didn't seem to suffice, really, but the Unspeakable paused to accept them just the same.

He nodded. "Work with demons makes one hard. You've been very strong." He looked up. "Both of you have. I'll be up directly." And he went back to his work at their cooktop.

Narcissa slept restlessly and lightly. Occasionally her eyes flickered open, but never quite focused. She murmured wordlessly and clenched her fingers in the duvet. Draco cooed to her, dabbed at her forehead with a cloth, checked the bandages on her heavily charmed arms.

When Merrik appeared with a tray, her eyes opened with a bright unexpected awareness and she sniffed the air, struggled to her tightly wrapped elbows. "Mmmm." She moaned and sat up as the Unspeakable settled the tray across her legs. "That smells good."

Draco leaned in and scowled at the bowl's contents. "What the hell is that?"

Merrik's lips pursed pragmatically. "Blood."

"_Just _blood? That's disgusting!" He reached for the bowl. "Mother, don't –"

His breath caught sharply when her hand clamped round his wrist. She growled, and he saw her eyes turn black, feral. "Don't touch it," she hissed.

"Mum?" He rubbed his wrist as he drew it to his chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable and…frightened. He watched in horror as she raised the bowl to eager, chapped lips. Her throat worked like a drinking swan's, bobbing and hitching as she drank. He had to look away when she licked the rim greedily. And when her fingers cleaned the container completely, he covered his mouth with his hand.

Merrik watched all this with an odd expressionless face. "I should leave now," he said finally. "If you'll walk me to your gates, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nodded, distracted by his mother's new predatory gaze and the way she sucked down scalding tea as though she felt no pain. "Of course," he whispered.

They were in the corridor approaching the manor's front entrance before Draco spoke again. "What's wrong with her?"

Merrik sniffed. He collected his valise, hat and coat from the foyer. "I can't tell. Probably a result of the aggressive healing spells and potions I used… Possibly a result of whatever encounter she experienced with the demon while we battled its physical form…" He pushed through the double doors and blinked against the sunlight. It had been days since any of them had seen sunlight. "Possibly it will pass once her iron levels are normal and her mind's back in order."

"And if not?" Draco was struggling to keep pace with the older wizard. Their shoes crunched fine gravel as they traversed the long walkway to the Malfoy gates.

Merrik paused at the gates and affixed his hat. "If not? Your vow damned you both." He pressed one of the gates and they swung open with an obnoxious creak. "That blood came from one of your birds. I had to make do. You will need to arrange a more permanent source until her cravings end. I also recommend another elf to assist with her wound dressings and to watch over her nights. You'll need to take rest when you can. Good day, Mr. Malfoy." His apparation was a crack of thunder.

Draco was left staring at the place where Merrik had stood, a grim and determined set to his features.

He owled Potter a letter of gratitude and an update on his mother's health. He also asked graciously for a reference toward a new house elf, as the fate of their last one had left them wanting. After his trip to the owlery, he visited his mother, surprised to find her standing before her full-length mirror. "You shouldn't be up."

"Why not?" She asked. "I feel fine."

She regarded her reflection while Draco regarded her. Her hair was wild, a halo of alabaster silk floating amorphously about her shoulders. Her eyes seemed a darker blue than before, and her lips a deeper red. Despite the last few days' weight loss, her curves were remarkably full. "Still," he said doubtfully, "you should probably rest some more." He gestured to her bandaged arms, now showing a few dots of blood. "Those need to heal properly."

Her smirk over her shoulder was magnetic. "I've such a good boy to care for me this way," she drawled. "And will you lie down with me?"

He chuffed, nervous. "Not now, mum. I've things to do."

"Things more important than me?" She was swaying toward him, the satin of her gown shimmering in the noon light.

"Don't be daft," he whispered. She pressed herself against him. He stiffened, then embraced her tenderly. "I'm worried for you. And I need to procure a new elf and…some animals, I suppose."

"Animals?" She asked in his shoulder.

He rubbed her back. Her skin was cool, but dry. "Yes. Merrik suggested it. For your…craving."

"Hm." She drew away as if she'd suddenly lost interest and wandered back to her bed. "But you will join me tonight? Like always, darling?"

He nodded as she flopped gracelessly into her pillows. "Yes. Like always."

When she smiled, she licked her teeth.

* * *

><p>The new elf arrived nearly three weeks later bearing a letter from Potter. Its name was Mustard and it was eager to work. "Mr. Potter sends Musty to work for you, Mr. Malfoy." It groveled in that way they had, making Draco sorely tempted to kick it off of the front steps. "Musty is good with the sick, sir."<p>

"Are you?" Draco asked. "And can you slaughter a lamb?"

It blinked its big eyes. Stuttered slightly. "M-Musty can, sir. If it is required of him."

"Good." Draco dismissed it with a wave. "Take one from the pen near the greenhouse. My mother takes three bowls of blood per day. It is only fresh for two days. After that, cook the rest. Sometimes, there are goats, instead."

The elf's lip quivered as it apparated away with a pop. Potter described Mustard in his letter as honest, caring and eager to please. He hoped Narcissa's health continued to improve, and that the Malfoys continued to fare well. Draco crumpled the missive and tossed it to the lawn.

Mustard disappeared four days later. Narcissa claimed - twirling a shank of gleaming white flax around one finger - to have no knowledge of its whereabouts. Draco couldn't be terribly put out. She'd taken to slaughtering her own animals anyway, preferring to drink 'straight from the tap,' as she called it. Her mad cackle after each kill set his nerves on edge…

For the most part, their lives continued as they had before. Quiet. Isolated. Insular. They read together, ate together (or Draco ate while his mother drank her meal). And they slept together.

Were they still lovers? Yes, Draco supposed, if you could call what happened between their sheets love.

If he had wanted her to be more passionate before, now he regretted the wanting. He missed her timid touches and reticent cries. Now, she was more likely to take him like a hellbeast, sweating and grinding like a thing that couldn't be satisfied on any physical plane. And perhaps she couldn't…

He knew she would scratch. He knew she would bite. She would draw his blood and she would drink and she would fuck him like a whore wouldn't dare. What frightened him was the fact that he enjoyed it.

And in the quiet nights, with only the occasional wail of a peacock or the bleating of a future meal, Draco would lie entangled with her until she drifted purring or growling into sleep. He would make his way sorely to the lavatory, fix the scratches, heal the bites. He would stare in the mirror and sigh, knowing he'd done this to _himself_.

Because she'd sacrificed _herself_ to be rid of a demon. And selfishly her son had refused that sacrifice. So the demon had never truly been defeated.

Whatever had once walked the hallowed halls of Malfoy Manor alone and with malice, now walked within Narcissa Malfoy, never to be alone again.

**AN:** Tis done. A nod to one of my favorite authors there at the end - Shirley Jackson, a true mistress of subtle darkness and fear. Thank you to all for your patience with this piece, and for your loyalty to it.


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